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Cfje  ftibergifcc  SUlfcinc 

9 


SDlje  fttbrrstoe  Elaine 


MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN 


BY 

CHARLES   DUDLEY  WARNER 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
New  York:  11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

Efjf  Et'ocrsitir  Prrze,  Camfitifigt 
1895 


Copyright,  1870, 
Br  FIELDS,  OSGOOD  &  CO, 

Copyright,  1886, 
Bt  HOUGHTON,  MOTLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


SIXTEENTH    EDITION. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


BY  WAY  OF  DEDICATION. 

MY  DEAR  POLLY,  —  When  a  few  of  these 
papers  had  appeared  in  "  The  Courant,"  I 
was  encouraged  to  continue  them  by  hearing 
that  they  had  at  least  one  reader  who  read 
them  with  the  serious  mind  from  which  alone 
profit  is  to  be  expected.  It  was  a  maiden 
lady,  who,  I  am  sure,  was  no  more  to  blame 
for  her  singleness  than  for  her  age  ;  and  she 
looked  to  these  honest  sketches  of  experience 
for  that  aid  which  the  professional  agricul- 
tural papers  could  not  give  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  little  bit  of  garden  which  she 
called  her  own.  She  may  have  been  my 
only  disciple  ;  and  I  confess  that  the  thought 
of  her  yielding  a  simple  faith  to  what  a  gain- 
saying world  may  have  regarded  with  levity 
has  contributed  much  to  give  an  increased 
practical  turn  to  my  reports  of  what  I  know 


8  BY  WAT  OF  DEDICATION. 

about  gardening.  The  thought  that  I  had 
misled  a  lady  whose  age  is  not  her  only  sin- 
gularity, who  looked  to  me  for  advice  which 
should  be  not  at  all  the  fanciful  product  of 
the  Garden  of  Gull,  would  give  me  great 
pain.  I  trust  that  her  autumn  is  a  peaceful 
one,  and  undisturbed  by  either  the  humorous 
or  the  satirical  side  of  Nature. 

You  know  that  this  attempt  to  tell  the 
truth  about  one  of  the  most  fascinating  oc- 
cupations in  the  world  has  not  been  without 
its  dangers.  I  have  received  anonymous 
letters.  Some  of  them  were  murderously 
spelled;  others  were  missives  in  such  ele- 
gant phrase  and  dress,  that  danger  was  only 
to  be  apprehended  in  them  by  one  skilled  in 
the  mysteries  of  mediaeval  poisoning,  when 
death  flew  on  the  wings  of  a  perfume.  One 
lady,  whose  entreaty  that  I  should  pause  had 
something  of  command  in  it,  wrote  that  my 
strictures  on  "  pusley  "  had  so  inflamed  her 
husband's  zeal,  that,  in  her  absence  in  the 
country,  he  had  rooted  up  all  her  beds  of 
portulaca  (a  sort  of  cousin  of  the  fat  weed), 


BY  WAY  OF  DEDICATION.  9 

and  utterly  cast  it  out.  It  is,  however,  to 
be  expected  that  retributive  justice  would 
visit  the  innocent  as  well  as  the  guilty  of  an 
offending  family.  This  is  only  another  proof 
of  the  wide  sweep  of  moral  forces.  I  sup- 
pose that  it  is  as  necessary  in  the  vegetable 
world  as  it  is  elsewhere  to  avoid  the  appear- 
ance of  evil. 

In  offering  you  the  fruit  of  my  garden, 
which  has  been  gathered  from  week  to  week, 
without  much  reference  to  the  progress  of 
the  crops  or  the  drought,  I  desire  to  ac- 
knowledge an  influence  which  has  lent  half 
the  charm  to  my  labor.  If  I  were  in  a  court 
of  justice,  or  injustice,  under  oath,  I  should 
not  like  to  say,  that,  either  in  the  wooing 
days  of  spring,  or  under  the  suns  of  the  sum- 
mer solstice,  you  had  been,  either  with  hoe, 
rake,  or  miniature  spade,  of  the  least  use  in 
the  garden  ;  but  your  suggestions  have  been 
invaluable,  and,  whenever  used,  have  been 
paid  for.  Your  horticultural  inquiries  have 
been  of  a  nature  to  astonish  the  vegetable 
world,  if  it  listened,  and  were  a  constant 


10  BY  WAY  OF  DEDICATION. 

inspiration  to  research.  There  was  almost 
nothing  that  you  did  not  wish  to  know ;  and 
this,  added  to  what  I  wished  to  know,  made 
a  boundless  field  for  discovery.  What  might 
have  become  of  the  garden,  if  your  advice 
had  been  followed,  a  good  Providence  only 
knows ;  but  I  never  worked  there  without  a 
consciousness  that  you  might  at  any  moment 
come  down  the  walk,  under  the  grape-arbor, 
bestowing  glances  of  approval,  that  were 
none  the  worse  for  not  being  critical ;  exer- 
cising a  sort  of  superintendence  that  ele- 
vated gardening  into  a  fine  art ;  expressing 
a  wonder  that  was  as  complimentary  to  me 
as  it  was  to  Nature ;  bringing  an  atmosphere 
which  made  the  garden  a  region  of  romance, 
the  soil  of  which  was  set  apart  for  fruits 
native  to  climes  unseen.  It  was  this  bright 
presence  that  filled  the  garden,  as  it  did  the 
summer,  with  light,  and  now  leaves  upon  it 
that  tender  play  of  color  and  bloom  which  is 
called  among  the  Alps  the  after-glow. 

C.  D.  W. 

NOOK  FARM,  HARTFORD,  October,  1870. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN 11 

CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER 171 


MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


PRELIMINARY. 

THE  love  of  dirt  is  among  the  earliest  of 
passions,  as  it  is  the  latest.  Mud-pies  grat- 
ify one  of  our  first  and  best  instincts.  So 
long  as  we  are  dirty,  we  are  pure.  Fond- 
ness for  the  ground  comes  back  to  a  man 
after  he  has  run  the  round  of  pleasure  and 
business,  eaten  dirt,  and  sown  wild-oats, 
drifted  about  the  world,  and  taken  the  wind 
of  all  its  mopds.  The  love  of  digging  in 
the  ground  (or  of  looking  on  while  he  pays 
another  to  dig)  is  as  sure  to  come  back  to 
him  as  ^  is  sure,  at  last,  to  go  under  the 
ground,  and  stay  there.  To  own  a  bit  of 
ground,  to  scratch  it  with  a  hoe,  to  plant 
seeds,  and  watch  their  renewal  of  life, — 
this  is  the  commonest  delight  of  the  race, 
the  most  satisfactory  thing  a  man  can  do. 
Cicero  writes  of  the  pleasures  of  old 


14  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

age,  that  of  agriculture  is  chief  among 
them:  "  Venio  nunc  ad  voluptates  agrico- 
larum,  quibus  ego  incredibiliter  detector: 
quoB  nee  ulla  impediuntur  senectute,  et  mihi 
ad  sapientis  vitam  proxime  videntur  acce- 
dere."  (I  am  driven  to  Latin  because  New 
York  editors  have  exhausted  the  English^ 
language  in  the  praising  of  spring,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  month  of  May.) 

Let  us  celebrate  the  soil.  Most  men  toil 
that  they  may  own  a  piece  of  it ;  they  meas- 
ure their  success  in  life  by  their  ability  to 
buy  it.  It  is  alike  the  passion  of  the  par- 
venu and  the  pride  of  the  aristocrat.  Broad 
acres  are  a  patent  of  nobility ',  and  no  man 
but  feels  more  of  a  man  in  the  world  if  he 
have  a  bit  of  ground  that  he  can  call  his 
own.  However  small  it  is  on  the  surface, 
it  is  four  thousand  miles  deep ;  and  that  is 
a  very  handsome  property.  And  there  is  a 
great  pleasure  in  working  in  the  soil,  apart 
from  the  ownership  of  it.  The  man  who 
has  planted  a  garden  feels  that  he  has  done 
something  for  the  good  of  the  world.  He 


PRELIMINARY.  15 

belongs  to  the  producers.  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  eat  of  the  fruit  of  one's  toil,  if  it  be 
nothing  more  than  a  head  of  lettuce  or  an 
ear  of  corn.^  One  cultivates  a  lawn,  even, 
with  great  satisfaction ;  for  there  is  nothing 
more  beautiful  than  grass  and  turf  in  our 
.latitude.  The  tropics  may  have  their  de- 
lights ;  but  they  have  not  turf :  and  the 
world  without  turf  is  a  dreary  desert.  The 
original  Garden  of  Eden  could  not  have  had 
such  turf  as  one  sees  in  England.  The  Teu- 
tonic races  all  love  turf :  they  emigrate  in 
the  line  of  its  growth) 

To  dig  in  the  mellow  soil  —  to  dig  moder- 
ately, for  all  pleasure  should  be  taken  spar- 
ingly —  is  a  great  thing.  One  gets  strength 
out  of  the  ground  as  often  as  one  really 
touches  it  with  a  hoe.  Antasus  (this  is  a 
classical  article)  was  no  doubt  an  agricultu- 
rist ;  and  such  a  prize-fighter  as  Hercules 
could  n't  do  anything  with  him  till  he  got 
him  to  lay  down  his  spade  and  quit  the  soil. 
It  is  not  simply  beets  and  potatoes  and  corn 
and  string-beans  that  one  raises  in  his  well- 


16  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

hoed  garden:  it  is  the  average  of  human 
life.  There  is  life  in  the  ground :  it  goes 
into  the  seeds  ;  and  it  also,  when  it  is  stirred 
up,  goes  into  the  man  who  stirs  it.  The 
hot  sun  on  his  back  as  he  bends  to  his  shovel 
and  hoe,  or  contemplatively  rakes  the  warm 
and  fragrant  loam,  is  better  than  much  med- 
icine. The  buds  are  coming  out  on  the 
bushes  round  about;  the  blossoms  of  the 
fruit-trees  begin  to  show ;  the  blood  is  run- 
ning up  the  grape-vines  in  streams  ;  you  can 
smell  the  wild-flowers  on  the  near  bank ;  and 
the  birds  are  flying  and  glancing  and  sing- 
ing everywhere.'  To  the  open  kitchen-door 
comes  the  busy  housewife  to  shake  a  white 
something,  and  stands  a  moment  to  look, 
quite  transfixed  by  the  delightful  sights  and 
sounds.  Hoeing  in  the  garden  on  a  bright, 
soft  May  day,  when  you  are  not  obliged  to, 
is  nearly  equal  to  the  delight  of  going  trout- 
ing. 

Blessed  be  agriculture  !-*-  if  one  does  not 
have  too  much  of  it.  All  literature  is  fra- 
grant with  it,  in  a  gentlemanly  way.  At  the 


PRELIMINARY.  17 

foot  of  the  charming  olive-covered  hills  of 
Tivoli,  Horace  (not  he  of  Chappaqua)  had 
a  sunny  farm :  it  was  in  sight  of  Hadrian's 
villa,  who  did  landscape-gardening  on  an 
extensive  scale,  and  probably  did  not  get 
half  as  much  comfort  out  of  it  as  Horace 
did  from  his  more  simply-tilled  acres.  "We 
trust  that  Horace  did  a  little  hoeing  and 
farming  himself,  and  that  his  verse  is  not 
all  fraudulent  sentiment.  In  order  to  enjoy 
agriculture,  you  do  not  want  too  much  of  it, 
and  you  want  to  be  poor  enough  to  have  a 
little  inducement  to  work  moderately  your- 
self. Hoe  while  it  is  spring,  and  enjoy  the 
best  anticipations.  It  is  not  much  matter  if 
things  do  not  turn  out  welL 


WHAT    I    KNOW  ABOUT    GAR- 
DENING. 


FIRST  WEEK. 

UNDER  this  modest  title,  I  purpose  to 
write  a  series  of  papers,  some  of  which  will 
be  like  many  papers  of  garden-seeds,  with 
nothing  vital  in  them,  on  the  subject  of  gar- 
dening ;  holding  that  no  man  has  any  right 
to  keep  valuable  knowledge  to  himself,  and 
hoping  that  those  who  come  after  me,  except 
tax-gatherers  and  that  sort  of  person,  wiU 
find  profit  in  the  perusal  of  my  experience. 
As  my  knowledge  is  constantly  increasing, 
there  is  likely  to  be  no  end  to  these  papers. 
They  will  pursue  no  orderly  system  of  agri- 
culture or  horticulture,  but  range  from  topic 
to  topic,  according  to  the  weather  and  the 
progress  of  the  weeds,  which  may  drive  me 
from  one  corner  of  the  garden  to  the  other. 


20  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

The  principal  value  of  a  private  garden  is 
not  understood.  It  is  not  to  give  the  posses- 
sor vegetables  and  fruit  (that  can  be  better 
and  cheaper  done  by  the  market-gardeners), 
but  to  teach  him  patience  and  philosophy, 
and  the  higher  virtues,  —  hope  deferred,  and 
expectations  blighted,  leading  directly  to  res- 
ignation, and  sometimes  to  alienation.  The 
garden  thus  becomes  •  a  moral  agent,  a  test 
of  character,  as  it  was  in  the  beginning.  I 
shall  keep  this  central  truth  in  mind  in  these 
articles.  I  mean  to  have  a  moral  garden, 
if  it  is  not  a  productive  one,  —  one  that 
shall  teach,  O  my  brothers !  O  my  sisters ! 
.  the  great  lessons  of  life. 

The  first  pleasant  thing  about  a  garden  in 
this  latitude  is  that  you  never  know  when 
to  set  it  going.  If  you  want  anything  to 
come  to  maturity  early,  you  must  start  it  in 
a  hot-house.  If  you  put  it  out  early,  the 
chances  are  all  in  favor  of  getting  it  nipped 
with  frost ;  for  the  thermometer  will  be  90° 
one  day,  and  go  below  32°  the  night  of  the 
day  following.  And,  if  you  do  not  set  out 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      21 

plants  or  sow  seeds  early,  you  fret  continu- 
ally ;  knowing  that  your  vegetables  will  be 
late,  and  that,  while  Jones  has  early  peas, 
you  will  be  watching  your  slow-forming 
pods.  This  keeps  you  in  a  state  of  mind. 
When  you  have  planted  anything  early,  you 
are  doubtful  whether  to  desire  to  see  it  above 
ground,  or  not.  If  a  hot  day  comes,  you 
long  to  see  the  young  plants ;  but,  when  a 
cold  north  wind  brings  frost,  you  tremble 
lest  the  seeds  have  burst  their  bands.  Your 
spring  is  passed  in  anxious  doubts  and  fears, 
which  are  usually  realized ;  and  so  a  great 
moral  discipline  is  worked  out  for  you. 

Now,  there  is  my  corn,  two  or  three  inches 
high  this  18th  of  May,  and  apparently  hav- 
ing no  fear  of  a  frost.  I  was  hoeing  it 
this  morning  for  the  first  time,  — -  it  is  not 
well  usually  to  hoe  corn  until  about  the  18th 
of  May,  —  when  Polly  came  out  to  look  at 
the  Lima  beans.  She  seemed  to  think  the 
poles  had  come  up  beautifully.  I  thought 
they  did  look  well:  they  are  a  fine  set  of 
poles,  large  and  well  grown,  and  stand 


22          '  MY  SUMMER  JN  A  GARDEN. 

straight.  They  were  inexpensive  "too.  The 
cheapness  came  about  from  my  cutting  them 
on  another  man's  land,  and  he  did  not  know 
it.  I  have  not  examined  this  transaction  in 
the  moral  light  of  gardening ;  but  I  know 
people  in  this  country  take  great  liberties 
at  the  polls.  Polly  noticed  that  the  beans 
had  not  themselves  come  up  in  any  proper 
sense,  but  that  the  dirt  had  got  off  from 
them,  leaving  them  uncovered.  She  thought 
it  would  be  well  to  sprinkle  a  slight  layer 
of  dirt  over  them  ;  and  I,  indulgently,  con- 
sented. It  occurred  to  me,  when  she  had 
gone,  that  beans  always  come  up  that  way, 
—  wrong  end  first  ;  and  that  what  they 
wanted  was  light,  and  not  dirt. 

Observation.  —  Woman  always  did,  from 
the  first,  make  a  muss  in  a  garden. 

I  inherited  with  my  garden  a  large  patch 
of  raspberries.  Splendid  berry  the  rasp- 
berry, when  the  strawberry  has  gone.  This 
patch  has  grown  into  such  a  defiant  attitude 
that  you  could  not  get  within  several  feet 
of  it.  Its  stalks  were  enormous  in  size,  and 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      23 

cast  out  long,  prickly  arms  in  all  directions ; 
but  the  bushes  were  pretty  much  all  dead. 
I  have  walked  into  them  a  good  deal  with 
a  pruning-knife ;  but  it  is  very  much  like 
fighting  original  sin.  The  variety  is  one 
that  I  can  recommend.  I  think  it  is  called 
Brinckley's  Orange.  It  is  exceedingly  pro- 
lific, and  has  enormous  stalks.  The  fruit 
is  also  said  to  be  good :  but  that  does  not 
matter  so  much,  as  the  plant  does  not  often 
bear  in  this  region.  The  stalks  seem  to  be 
biennial  institutions ;  and  as  they  get  about 
their  growth  one  year,  and  bear  the  next 
year,  and  then  die,  and  the  winters  here 
nearly  always  kill  them,  unless  you  take 
them  into  the  house  (which  is  inconvenient 
if  you  have  a  family  of  small  children),  it 
is  very  difficult  to  induce  the  plant  to  flower 
and  fruit.  This  is  the  greatest  objection 
there  is  to  this  sort  of  raspberry.  I  think 
of  keeping  these  for  discipline,  and  setting 
out  some  others,  more  hardy  sorts,  for  fruit 


MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


SECOND  WEEK. 

NEXT  to  deciding  when  to  start  your 
garden,  the  most  important  matter  is,  what 
to  put  in  it.  It  is  difficult  to  decide  what 
to  order  for  dinner  on  a  given  day:  how 
much  more  oppressive  is  it  to  order  in 
a  lump  an  endless  vista  of  dinners,  so  to 
speak  !  For,  unless  your  garden  is  a  bound- 
less prairie  (and  mine  seems  to  me  to  be 
that  when  I  hoe  it  on  hot  days),  you  must 
make  a  selection,  from  the  great  variety  of 
vegetables,  of  those  you  will  raise  in  it; 
and  you  feel  rather  bound  to  supply  your 
own  table  from  your  own  garden,  and  to 
eat  only  as  you  have  sown. 

I  hold  that  no  man  has  a  right  (whatever 
his  sex,  of  course)  to  have  a  garden  to  his 
own  selfish  uses.  He  ought  not  to  please 
himself,  but  every  man  to  please  his  neigh- 
bor. I  tried  to  have  a  garden  that  would 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     25 

give  general  moral  satisfaction.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  nobody  could  object  to  potatoes 
(a  most  useful  vegetable)  ;  and  I  began  to 
plant  them  freely.  But  there  was  a  chorus 
of  protest  against  them.  "You  don't  want 
to  take  up  your  ground  with  potatoes,"  the 
neighbors  said :  "  you  can  buy  potatoes " 
(the  very  thing  I  wanted  to  avoid  doing  is 
buying  things).  "  What  you  want  is  the 
perishable  things  that  you  cannot  get  fresh 
in  the  market."  —  "  But  what  kind  of  per- 
ishable things?"  A  horticulturist  of  emi- 
nence wanted  me  to  sow  lines  of  straw- 
berries and  raspberries  right  over  where  I 
had  put  my  potatoes  in  drills.  I  had  about 
five  hundred  strawberry-plants  in  another 
part  of  my  garden  ;  but  this  fruit-fanatic 
wanted  me  to  turn  my  whole  patch  into 
vines  and  runners.  I  suppose  I  could  raise 
strawberries  enough  for  all  my  neighbors ; 
and  perhaps  I  ought  to  do  it.  I  had  a  little 
space  prepared  for  melons,  —  musk-melons, 
— which  I  showed  to  an  experienced  friend. 
"You  are  not  going  to  waste  your  ground 


26  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

on  musk-melons  ?  "  he  asked.  "  They  rarely 
ripen  in  this  climate  thoroughly,  before 
frost."  He  had  tried  for  years  without  luck. 
I  resolved  not  to  go  into  such  a  foolish 
experiment.  But,  the  next  day,  another 
neighbor  happened  in.  "  Ah  !  I  see  you 
are  going  to  have  melons.  My  family  would 
rather  give  up  anything  else  in  the  garden 
than  musk-melons,  —  of  the  nutmeg  variety. 
They  are  the  most  grateful  things  we  have 
on  the  table."  So  there  it  was.  There  was 
no  compromise :  it  was  melons,  or  no  mel- 
ons, and  somebody  offended  in  any  case. 
I  half  resolved  to  plant  them  a  little  late, 
so  that  they  would,  and  they  would  n't. 
But  I  had  the  same  difficulty  about  string- 
beans  (which  I  detest),  and  squash  (which  I 
tolerate),  and  parsnips,  and  the  whole  round 
of  green  things. 

I  have  pretty  much  come  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  you  have  got  to  put  your  foot 
down  in  gardening.  If  I  had  actually 
taken  counsel  of  my  friends,  I  should  not 
have  had  a  thing  growing  in  the  garden 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      27 

to-day  but  weeds.  And  besides,  while  you 
are  waiting,  Nature  does  not  wait.  Her 
mind  is  made  up.  She  knows  just  what 
she  will  raise ;  and  she  has  an  infinite  vari- 
ety of  early  and  late.  The  most  humiliating 
thing  to  me  about  a  garden  is  the  lesson  it 
teaches  of  the  inferiority  of  man.  Nature 
is  prompt,  decided,  inexhaustible.  She 
thrusts  up  her  plants  with  a  vigor  and  free- 
dom that  I  admire ;  and  the  more  worthless 
the  plant,  the  more  rapid  and  splendid  its 
growth.  She  is  at  it  early  and  late,  and  all 
night ;  never  tiring,  nor  showing  the  least 
sign  of  exhaustion. 

"Eternal  gardening  is  the  price  of  liber- 
ty" is  a  motto  that  I  should  put  over  the 
gateway  of  my  garden,  if  I  had  a  gate.  And 
yet  it  is  not  wholly  true ;  for  there  is  no 
liberty  in  gardening.  The  man  who  under- 
takes a  garden  is  relentlessly  pursued.  He 
felicitates  himself  that,  when  he  gets  it  once 
planted,  he  will  have  a  season  of  rest  and 
of  enjoyment  in  the  sprouting  and  growing 
of  his  seeds.  It  is  a  green  anticipation. 


28  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

He  has  planted  a  seed  that  will  keep  him 
awake  nights ;  drive  rest  from  his  bones, 
and  sleep  from  his  pillow.  Hardly  is  the 
garden  planted,  when  he  must  begin  to  hoe 
it.  The  weeds  have  sprung  up  all  over  it  in 
a  night.  They  shine  and  wave  in  redundant 
life.  The  docks  have  almost  gone  to  seed ; 
and  their  roots  go  deeper  than  conscience. 
Talk  about  the  London  Docks !  —  the  roots 
of  these  are  like  the  sources  of  the  Aryan 
race.  And  the  weeds  are  not  all.  I  awake 
in  the  morning  (and  a  thriving  garden  will 
wake  a  person  up  two  hours  before  he  ought 
to  be  out  of  bed)  and  think  of  the  tomato 
plants,  —  the  leaves  like  fine  lace  -  work, 
owing  to  black  bugs  that  skip  around,  and 
can't  be  caught.  Somebody  ought  to  get  up 
before  the  dew  is  off  (why  don't  the  dew 
stay  on  till  after  a  reasonable  breakfast?), 
and  sprinkle  soot  on  the  leaves.  I  wonder 
if  it  is  I.  Soot  is  so  much  blacker  than  the 
bugs  that  they  are  disgusted,  and  go  away. 
You  can't  get  up  too  early,  if  you  have  a 
garden.  You  must  be  early  due  yourself,  if 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      29 

you  get  ahead  of  the  bugs.  I  think  that 
on  the  whole  it  would  be  best  to  sit  up  all 
night,  and  sleep  daytimes.  Things  appear 
to  go  on  in  the  night  in  the  garden  uncom- 
monly. It  would  be  less  trouble  to  stay  up 
than  it  is  to  get  up  so  early. 

I  have  been  setting  out  some  new  raspber- 
ries, two  sorts,  —  a  silver  and  a  gold  color. 
How  fine  they  will  look  on  the  table  next 
year  in  a  cut-glass  dish,  the  cream  being  in 
a  ditto  pitcher !  I  set  them  four  and  five 
feet  apart.  I  set  my  strawberries  pretty 
well  apart  also.  The  reason  is  to  give  room 
for  the  cows  to  run  through  when  they  break 
into  the  garden,  —  as  they  do  sometimes. 
A  cow  needs  a  broader  track  than  a  locomo- 
tive ;  and  she  generally  makes  one.  I  am 
sometimes  astonished  to  see  how  big  a  space 
in  a  flower-bed  her  foot  will  cover.  The 
raspberries  are  called  Doolittle  and  Golden 
Cap.  I  don't  like  the  name  of  the  first 
variety,  and  if  they  do  much  shall  change 
it  to  Silver  Top.  You  never  can  tell  what 
a  thinq;  named  Doolittle  will  do.  The  one 


30  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

in  the  Senate  changed  color  and  got  sour. 
They  ripen  badly,  —  either  mildew,  or  rot 
on  the  bush.  They  are  apt  to  Johnsonize, 
—  rot  on  the  stem.  I  shall  watch  the  Doo- 
littles. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      31 


THIRD  WEEK. 

I  BELIEVE  that  I  have  found,  if  not  orig- 
inal sin,  at  least  vegetable  total  depravity  in 
my  garden  ;  and  it  was  there  before  I  went 
into  it.  It  is  the  bunch,  or  joint,  or  snake- 
grass,  —  whatever  it  is  called.  As  I  do  not 
know  the  names  of  all  the  weeds  and  plants, 
I  have  to  do  as  Adam  did  in  his  garden,  — 
name  things  as  I  find  them.  This  grass  has 
a  slender,  beautiful  stalk:  and  when  you 
cut  it  down  or  pull  up  a  long  root  of  it,  you 
fancy  it  is  got  rid  of ;  but  in  a  day  or  two 
it  will  come  up  in  the  same  spot  in  half  a 
dozen  vigorous  blades.  Cutting  down  and 
pulling  up  is  what  it  thrives  on.  Extermi- 
nation rather  helps  it.  If  you  follow  a 
slender  white  root,*it  will  be  found  to  run 
under  the  ground  until  it  meets  another  slen- 
der white  root ;  and  you  will  soon  unearth  a 
network  of  them,  with  a  knot  somewhere, 


32  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

sending  out  dozens  of  sharp-pointed,  healthy 
shoots,  every  joint  prepared  to  be  an  inde- 
pendent life  and  plant.  The  only  way  to 
deal  with  it  is  to  take  one  part  hoe  and  two 
parts  fingers,  and  carefully  dig  it  out,  not 
leaving  a  joint  anywhere.  It  will  take  a  little 
time,  say  all  summer,  to  dig  out  thoroughly  a 
small  patch  ;  but  if  you  once  dig  it  out  and 
keep  it  out,  you  will  have  no  further  trouble. 
I  have  said  it  was  total  depravity.  Here 
it  is.  If  you  attempt  to  pull  up  and  root 
out  any  sin  in  you,  which  shows  on  the  sur- 
face, —  if  it  does  not  show,  you  do  not  care 
for  it,  —  you  may  have  noticed  how  it  rims 
into  an  interior  network  of  sins,  and  an  ever- 
sprouting  branch  of  them  roots  somewhere ; 
and  that  you  cannot  pull  out  one  without 
making  a  general  internal  disturbance  and 
rooting  up  your  whole  being.  I  suppose  it 
is  less  trouble  to  quietly  cut  them  off  at  the 
top,  —  say  once  a  week,  on  Sunday,  when 
you  put  on  your  religious  clothes  and  face, 
—  so  that  no  one  will  see  them,  and  not  try 
to  eradicate  the  network  within. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.       33 

Remark.  —  This  moral  vegetable  figure 
is  at  the  service  of  any  clergyman  who  will 
have  the  manliness  to  come  forward  and  help 
me  at  a  day's  hoeing  on  my  potatoes.  None 
but  the  orthodox  need  apply. 

I,  however,  believe  in  the  intellectual,  if 
not  the  moral,  qualities  of  vegetables,  and 
especially  weeds.  There  was  a  worthless 
vine  that  (or  who)  started  up  about  midway 
between  a  grape-trellis  and  a  row  of  bean- 
poles, some  three  feet  from  each,  but  a  little 
nearer  the  trellis.  When  it  came  out  of  the 
ground,  it  looked  around  to  see  what  it 
should  do.  The  trellis  was  already  occupied. 
The  bean-pole  was  empty.  There  was  evi- 
dently a  little  the  best  chance  of  light,  air, 
and  sole  proprietorship  on  the  pole.  And 
the  vine  started  for  the  pole,  and  began  to 
climb  it  with  determination.  Here  was  as 
distinct  an  act  of  choice,  of  reason,  as  a  boy 
exercises  when  he  goes  into  a  forest,  and, 
looking  about,  decides  which  tree  he  will 
climb.  And,  besides,  how  did  the  vine  know 
enough  to  travel  in  exactly  the  right  direcv 


34  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

tion,  three  feet,  to  find  what  it  wanted? 
This  is  intellect.  The  weeds,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  hateful  moral  qualities.  To  cut 
down  a  weed  is,  therefore,  to  do  a  moral 
action.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  destroying  sin. 
My  hoe  becomes  an  instrument  of  retribu- 
tive justice.  I  am  an  apostle  of  Nature. 
This  view  of  the  matter  lends  a  dignity  to 
the  art  of  hoeing  which  nothing  else  does, 
and  lifts  it  into  the  region  of  ethics.  Hoe- 
ing becomes,  not  a  pastime,  but  a  duty.' 
And  you  get  to  regard  it  so,  as  the  days  and 
the  weeds  lengthen. 

Observation.  —  Nevertheless,  what  a  man 
needs  in  gardening  is  a  cast-iron  back,  with 
a  hinge  in  it.  The  hoe  is  an  ingenious  in- 
strument, calculated  to  call  out  a  great  deal 
of  strength  at  a  great  disadvantage. 

The  striped  bug  has  come,  the  saddest  of 
the  year.  He  is  a  moral  double-ender,  iron- 
clad at  that.  He  is  unpleasant  in  two  ways. 
He  burrows  in  the  ground  so  that  you  can- 
not find  him,  and  he  flies  away  so  that  you 
cannot  catch  him.  He  is  rather  handsome, 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      35 

as  bugs  go,  but  utterly  dastardly,  in  that  he 
gnaws  the  stem  of  the  plant  close  to  the 
ground,  and  ruins  it  without  any  apparent 
advantage  to  himself.  I  find  him  on  the 
hills  of  cucumbers  (perhaps  it  will  be  a  chol- 
era-year, and  we  shall  not  want  any),  the 
squashes  (small  loss),  and  the  melons  (which 
never  ripen).  The  best  way  to  deal  with 
the  striped  bug  is  to  sit  down  by  the  hills, 
and  patiently  watch  for  him.  If  you  are 
spry,  you  can  annoy  him.  This,  however, 
takes  time.  It  takes  all  day  and  part  of  the 
night.  For  he  flieth  in  darkness,  and  wast- 
eth  at  noonday.  If  you  get  up  before  the 
dew  is  off  the  plants,  —  it  goes  off  very  early, 
—  you  can  sprinkle  soot  on  the  plant  (soot 
is  my  panacea  :  if  I  can  get  the  disease  of  a 
plant  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  soot,  I  am 
all  right)  ;  and  soot  is  unpleasant  to  the 
bug.  But  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  set  a 
toad  to  catch  the  bugs.  The  toad  at  once 
establishes  the  most  intimate  relations  with 
the  bug.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  such  unity 
among  the  lower  animals.  The  difficulty  is 


36  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

to  make  the  toad  stay  and  watch  the  hill. 
If  you  know  your  toad,  it  is  all  right.  If 
you  do  not,  you  must  build  a  tight  fence 
round  the  plants,  which  the  toad  cannot  jump 
over.  This,  however,  introduces  a  new  ele- 
ment. I  find  that  I  have  a  zoological  gar- 
den on  my  hands.  It  is  an  unexpected  re- 
sult of  my  little  enterprise,  which  never 
aspired  to  the  completeness  of  the  Paris 
Jardin  des  Plantes. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     37 


FOURTH  WEEK. 

ORTHODOXY  is  at  a  low  ebb.  Only  two 
clergymen  accepted  my  offer  to  come  and 
help  hoe  my  potatoes  for  the  privilege  of 
using  my  vegetable  total-depravity  figure 
about  the  snake-grass,  or  quack-grass  as 
some  call  it ;  and  those  two  did  not  bring 
hoes.  There  seems  to  be  a,  lack  of  disposi- 
tion to  hoe,  among  our  educated  clergy.  I 
am  bound  to  say  that  these  two,  however,  sat 
and  watched  my  vigorous  combats  with  the 
weeds,  and  talked  most  beautifully  about  the 
application  of  the  snake-grass  figure.  As, 
for  instance,  when  a  fault  or  sin  showed  on 
the  surface  of  a  man,  whether,  if  you  dug 
down,  you  would  find  that  it  ran  back  and 
into  the  original  organic  bunch  of  original 
sin  within  the  mane  The  only  other  clergy- 
man who  came  was  from  out  of  town,  —  a 
half  Universalist,  who  said  he  would  n't  give 


38  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

twenty  cents  for  my  figure.  He  said  that 
the  snake-grass  was  not  in  my  garden  origi- 
nally, that  it  sneaked  in  under  the  sod,  and 
that  it  could  be  entirely  rooted  out  with  in- 
dustry and  patience.  I  asked  the  Universal- 
ist-inclined  man  to  take  my  hoe  and  try  it ; 
but  he  said  he  had  n't  time,  and  went  away. 
But,  jubilate,  I  have  got  my  garden  all 
hoed  the  first  tune !  I  feel  as  if  I  had  put 
down  the  rebellion.  Only  there  are  gueril- 
las left  here  and  there,  about  the  borders 
and  in  corners,  unsubdued,  —  Forrest  docks, 
and  Quantrell  grass,  and  Beauregard  pig- 
weeds. This  first  hoeing  is  a  gigantic  task : 
it  is  your  first  trial  of  strength  with  the 
never-sleeping  forces  of  Nature.  Several 
times,  in  its  progress,  I  was  tempted  to  do 
as  Adam  did,  who  abandoned  his  garden  on 
account  of  the  weeds.  (How  much  my  mind 
seems  to  run  upon  Adam,  as  if  there  had 
been  only  two  really  moral  gardens,  — 
Adam's  and  mine !)  The  only  drawback  to 
my  rejoicing  over  the  finishing  of  the  first 
hoeing  is  that  the  garden  now  wants  hoeing 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      39 

the  second  time.  I  suppose,  if  my  garden 
were  planted  in  a  perfect  circle,  and  I  started 
round  it  with  a  hoe,  I  should  never  see  an 
opportunity  to  rest.  The  fact  is  that  gar- 
dening is  the  old  fable  of  perpetual  labor ; 
and  I,  for  one,  can  never  forgive  Adam 
Sisyphus,  or  whoever  it  was  who  let  in  the 
roots  of  discord.  I  had  pictured  myself  sit- 
ting at  eve,  with  my  family,  in  the  shade 
of  twilight,  contemplating  a  garden  hoed. 
Alas !  it  is  a  dream  not  to  be  realized  in 
this  world. 

My  mind  has  been  turned  to  the  subject  of 
fruit  and  shade  trees  in  a  garden.  There  are 
those  who  say  that  trees  shade  the  garden 
too  much,  and  interfere  with  the  growth  of 
the  vegetables.  There  may  be  something  in 
this :  but  when  I  go  down  the  potato  rows, 
the  rays  of  the  sun  glancing  upon  my  shin- 
ing blade,  the  sweat  pouring  from  my  face, 
I  should  be  grateful  for  shade.  What  is 
a  garden  for?  The  pleasure  of  man.  I 
should  take  much  more  pleasure  in  a  shady 
garden.  Am  I  to  be  sacrificed,  broiled, 


40  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

roasted,  for  the  sake  of  the  increased  vigor 
of  a  few  vegetables  ?  The  thing  is  perfectly 
absurd.  If  I  were  rich,  I  think  I  would 
have  my  garden  covered  with  an  awning,  so 
that  it  would  be  comfortable  to  work  in  it. 
It  might  roll  up  and  be  removable,  as  the 
great  awning  of  the  Roman  Coliseum  was, 
—  not  like  the  Boston  one,  which  went  off 
in  a  high  wind.  Another  very  good  way  to 
do,  and  probably  not  so  expensive  as  the 
awning,  would  be  to  have  four  persons  of 
foreign  birth  carry  a  sort  of  canopy  over  you 
as  you  hoed.  And  there  might  be  a  person 
at  each  end  of  the  row  with  some  cool  and 
refreshing  drink.  Agriculture  is  still  in  a 
very  barbarous  stage.  I  hope  to  live  yet 
to  see  the  day  when  I  can  do  my  gardening, 
as  tragedy  is  done,  to  slow  and  soothing  mu- 
sic, and  attended  by  some  of  the  comforts  I 
have  named.  These  things  come  so  forcibly 
into  my  mind  sometimes  as  I  work  that  per- 
haps, when  a  wandering  breeze  lifts  my  straw 
hat,  or  a  bird  lights  on  a  near  currant-bush, 
and  shakes  out  a  full-throated  summer  song, 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      41 

I  almost  expect  to  find  the  cooling  drink  and 
the  hospitable  entertainment  at  the  end  of 
the  row.  But  I  never  do.  There  is  nothing 
to  be  done  but  to  turn  round,  and  hoe  back 
to  the  other  end. 

Speaking  of  those  yellow  squash-bugs,  I 
think  I  disheartened  them  by  covering  the 
plants  so  deep  with  soot  and  wood-ashes  that 
they  could  not  find  them ;  and  I  am  in 
doubt  if  I  shall  ever  see  the  plants  again. 
But  I  have  heard  of  another  defence  against 
the  bugs.  Put  a  fine  wire-screen  over  each 
hill,  which  will  keep  out  the  bugs  and  admit 
the  rain.  I  should  say  that  these  screens 
would  not  cost  much  more  than  the  melons 
you  would  be  likely  to  get  from  the  vines  if 
you  bought  them ;  but  then  think  of  the 
moral  satisfaction  of  watching  the  bugs  hov- 
ering over  the  screen,  seeing,  but  unable  to 
reach  the  tender  plants  within.  That  is 
worth  paying  for. 

I  left  my  own  garden  yesterday,  and  went 
over  to  where  Polly  was  getting  the  weeds 
out  of  one  of  her  flower-beds.  She  was 


42  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

working  away  at  the  bed  with  a  little  hoe. 
Whether  women  ought  to  have  the  ballot  or 
not  (and  I  have  a  decided  opinion  on  that 
point,  which  I  should  here  plainly  give,  did 
I  not  fear  that  it  would  injure  my  agricul- 
tural influence),  I  am  compelled  to  say  that 
this  was  rather  helpless  hoeing.  It  was  pa- 
tient, conscientious,  even  pathetic  hoeing ; 
but  it  was  neither  effective  nor  finished. 
When  completed,  the  bed  looked  somewhat 
as  if  a  hen  had  scratched  it ;  there  was  that 
touching  unevenness  about  it.  I  think  no 
one  could  look  at  it  and  not  be  affected.  To 
be  sure,  Polly  smoothed  it  off  with  a  rake, 
and  asked  me  if  it  was  n't  nice ;  and  I  said 
it  was.  It  was  not  a  favorable  time  for  me 
to  explain  the  difference  between  puttering 
hoeing  and  the  broad,  free  sweep  of  the  in- 
strument, which  kills  the  weeds,  spares  the 
plants,  and  loosens  the  soil  without  leaving 
it  in  holes  and  hills.  But,  after  all,  as  life 
is  constituted,  I  think  more  of  Polly's  honest 
and  anxious  care  of  her  plants  than  of  the 
most  finished  gardening  in  the  world. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      43 


FIFTH    WEEK. 

I  LEFT  my  garden  for  a  week,  just  at  the 
close  of  the  dry  spell.  A  season  of  rain  im- 
mediately set  in,  and  when  I  returned  the 
transformation  was  wonderful.  In  one  week 
every  vegetable  had  fairly  jumped  forward. 
The  tomatoes  which  I  left  slender  plants, 
eaten  of  bugs  and  debating  whether  they 
would  go  backward  or  forward,  had  become 
stout  and  lusty,  with  thick  stems  and  dark 
leaves,  and  some  of  them  had  blossomed. 
The  corn  waved  like  that  which  grows  so 
rank  out  of  the  French-English  mixture  at 
Waterloo.  The  squashes  —  I  will  not  speak 
of  the  squashes.  The  most  remarkable 
growth  was  the  asparagus.  There  was  not 
a  spear  above  ground  when  I  went  away ; 
and  now  it  had  sprung  up,  and  gone  to  seed, 
and  there  were  stalks  higher  than  my  head. 
I  am  entirely  aware  of  the  value  of  words 


44  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

and  of  moral  obligations.  When  I  say  that 
the  asparagus  had  grown  six  feet  in  seven 
days,  I  expect  and  wish  to  be  believed.  I 
am  a  little  particular  about  the  statement ; 
for,  if  there  is  any  prize  offered  for  aspara- 
gus at  the  next  agricultural  fair,  I  wish  to 
compete,  —  speed  to  govern.  What  I  claim 
is  the  fastest  asparagus.  As  for  eating  pur- 
poses, I  have  seen  better.  A  neighbor  of 
mine,  who  looked  in  at  the  growth  of  the  bed, 

said,  "  Well,  he  'd  be :  "  but  I  told  him 

there  was  no  use  of  affirming  now  ;  he  might 
keep  his  oath  till  I  wanted  it  on  the  aspara- 
gus affidavit.  In  order  to  have  this  sort  of 
asparagus,  you  want  to  manure  heavily  in 
the  early  spring,  fork  it  in,  and  top-dress 
(that  sounds  technical)  with  a  thick  layer  of 
chloride  of  sodium  :  if  you  cannot  get  that, 
common  salt  will  do,  and  the  neighbors  will 
never  notice  whether  it  is  the  orthodox  Na. 
Cl.  58.5,  or  not. 

I  scarcely  dare  trust  myself  to  speak  of 
the  weeds.  They  grow  as  if  the  devil  was 
in  them.  I  know  a  lady,  a  member  of  the 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      45 

church,  and  a  very  good  sort  of  woman,  con- 
sidering the  subject  condition  of  that  class, 
who  says  that  the  weeds  work  on  her  to  that 
extent  that,  in  going  through  her  garden, 
she  has  the  greatest  difficulty  in  keeping 
the  ten  commandments  in  anything  like  an 
unfractured  condition.  I  asked  her  which 
one,  but  she  said,  all  of  them :  one  felt  like 
breaking  the  whole  lot.  The  sort  of  weed 
which  I  most  hate  (if  I  can  be  said  to  hate 
anything  which  grows  in  my  own  garden)  is 
the  "  pusley,"  a  fat,  ground-clinging,  spread- 
ing, greasy  thing,  and  the  most  propagations 
(it  is  not  my  fault  if  the  word  is  not  in  the 
dictionary)  plant  I  know.  I  saw  a  China- 
man, who  came  over  with  a  returned  mission- 
ary, and  pretended  to  be  converted,  boil  a  lot 
of  it  in  a  pot,  stir  in  eggs,  and  mix  and  eat 
it  with  relish,  —  "  Me  likee  he."  It  will  be 
a  good  thing  to  keep  the  Chinamen  on  when 
they  come  to  do  our  gardening.  I  only  fear 
they  will  cultivate  it  at  the  expense  of  the 
strawberries  and  melons.  Who  can  say 
that  other  weeds,  which  we  despise,  may  not 


46  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

be  the  favorite  food  of  some  remote  people 
or  tribe  ?  We  ought  to  abate  our  conceit. 
It  is  possible  that  we  destroy  in  our  gardens 
that  which  is  really  of  most  value  in  some 
other  place.  Perhaps,  in  like  manner,  our 
faults  and  vices  are  virtues  in  some  remote 
planet.  I  cannot  see,  however,  that  this 
thought  is  of  the  slightest  value  to  us  here, 
any  more  than  weeds  are. 

There  is  another  subject  which  is  forced 
upon  my  notice.  I  like  neighbors,  and  I 
like  chickens  ;  but  I  do  not  think  they  ought 
to  be  united  near  a  garden.  Neighbors' 
hens  in  your  garden  are  an  annoyance. 
Even  if  they  did  not  scratch  up  the  corn, 
and  peck  the  strawberries,  and  eat  the  to- 
matoes, it  is  not  pleasant  to  see  them  strad- 
dling about  in  their  jerky,  high-stepping, 
speculative  manner,  picking  inquisitively 
here  and  there.  It  is  of  no  use  to  tell  the 
neighbor  that  his  hens  eat  your  tomatoes : 
it  makes  no  impression  on  him,  for  the  to- 
matoes are  not  his.  The  best  way  is  to  cas- 
ually remark  to  him  that  he  has  a  fine  lot  of 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      47 

chickens,  pretty  well  grown,  and  that  you 
like  spring  chickens  broiled.  He  will  take 
them  away  at  once. 

The  neighbors'  small  children  are  also 
out  of  place  in  your  garden,  in  strawberry 
and  currant  time.  I  hope  I  appreciate  the 
value  of  children.  We  should  soon  come 
to  nothing  without  them,  though  the  Sha- 
kers have  the  best  gardens  in  the  world. 
Without  them  the  common  school  would 
languish.  But  the  problem  is,  what  to  do 
with  them  in  a  garden.  For  they  are  not 
good  to  eat,  and  there  is  a  law  against  mak- 
ing away  with  them.  The  law  is  not  very 
well  enforced,  it  is  true  ;  for  people  do  thin 
them  out  with  constant  dosing,  paregoric, 
and  soothing-syrups,  and  scanty  clothing. 
But  I,  for  one,  feel  that  it  would  not  be 
right,  aside  from  the  law,  to  take  the  life 
even  of  the  smallest  child,  for  the  sake  of  a 
little  fruit,  more  or  less,  in  the  garden.  I 
may  be  wrong ;  but  these  are  my  sentiments, 
and  I  am  not  ashamed  of  them.  When 
we  come,  as  Bryant  says  in  his  Iliad,  to 


48  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

leave  the  circus  of  this  life,  and  join  that 
innumerable  caravan  which  moves,  it  will 
be  some  satisfaction  to  us  that  we  have 
never,  in  the  way  of  gardening,  disposed  of 
even  the  humblest  child  unnecessarily.  My 
plan  would  be  to  put  them  intQ  Sunday- 
schools  more  thoroughly,  and  to  give  the 
Sunday-schools  an  agricultural  turn ;  teach- 
ing the  children  the  sacredness  of  neigh- 
bors' vegetables.  I  think  that  our  Sunday- 
schools  do  not  sufficiently  impress  upon 
children  the  danger,  from  snakes  and  other- 
wise, of  going  into  the  neighbors'  gardens. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      49 


SIXTH  WEEK. 

SOMEBODY  has  sent  me  a  new  sort  of 
hoe,  with  the  wish  that  I  should  speak  fa- 
vorably of  it,  if  I  can  consistently.  I  will- 
ingly do  so,  but  with  the  understanding  that 
I  am  to  be  at  liberty  to  speak  just  as  cour- 
teously of  any  other  hoe  which  I  may  re- 
ceive. If  I  understand  religious  morals,  this 
is  the  position  of  the  religious  press  with 
regard  to  bitters  and  wringing-machines. 
In  some  cases,  the  responsibility  of  such  a 
recommendation  is  shifted  upon  the  wife 
of  the  editor  or  clergyman.  Polly  says  she 
is  entirely  willing  to  make  a  certificate,  ac- 
companied with  an  affidavit,  with  regard  to 
this  hoe ;  but  her  habit  of  sitting  about 
the  garden-walk,  on  an  inverted  flower-pot, 
while  I  hoe,  somewhat  destroys  the  practical 
value  of  her  testimony. 

As  to  this  hoe,  I  do  not  mind  saying  that 


50  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

it  has  changed  my  view  of  the  desirableness 
and  value  of  human  life.  It  has,  in  fact, 
made  life  a  holiday  to  me.  It  is  made  on 
the  principle  that  man  is  an  upright,  sen- 
sible, reasonable  being,  and  not  a  grovelling 
wretch.  It  does  away  with  the  necessity 
of  the  hinge  in  the  back.  The  handle  is 
seven  and  a  half  feet  long.  There  are  two 
narrow  blades,  sharp  on  both  edges,  which 
come  together  at  an  obtuse  angle  in  front ; 
and  as  you  walk  along  with  this  hoe  before 
you,  pushing  and  pulling  with  a  gentle  mo- 
tion, the  weeds  fall  at  every  thrust  and 
withdrawal,  and  the  slaughter  is  immediate 
and  wide-spread.  When  I  got  this  hoe  I 
was  troubled  with  sleepless  mornings,  pains 
in  the  back,  kleptomania  with  regard  to  new 
weeders;  when  I  went  into  my  garden  I 
was  always  sure  to  see  something.  In  this 
disordered  state  of  mind  and  body  I  got 
this  hoe.  The  morning  after  a  day  of  using 
it  I  slept  perfectly  and  late.  I  regained 
my  respect  for  the  eighth  commandment. 
After  two  doses  of  the  hoe  in  the  garden, 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      51 

the  weeds  entirely  disappeared.  Trying  it 
a  third  morning,  I  was  obliged  to  throw  it 
over  the  fence  in  order  to  save  from  de- 
struction the  green  things  that  ought  to 
grow  in  the  garden.  Of  course,  this  is 
figurative  language.  What  I  mean  is  that 
the  fascination  of  using  this  hoe  is  such 
that  you  are  sorely  tempted  to  employ  it 
upon  your  vegetables,  after  the  weeds  are 
laid  low,  and  must  hastily  withdraw  it,  to 
avoid  unpleasant  results.  I  make  this  ex- 
planation, because  I  intend  to  put  nothing 
into  these  agricultural  papers  that  will  not 
bear  the  strictest  scientific  investigation  ; 
nothing  that  the  youngest  child  cannot  un- 
derstand and  cry  for  ;  nothing  that  the  old- 
est and  wisest  men  will  not  need  to  study 
with  care. 

I  need  not  add  that  the  care  of  a  garden 
with  this  hoe  becomes  the  merest  pastime. 
I  would  not  be  without  one  for  a  single 
night.  The  only  danger  is  that  you  may 
rather  make  an  idol  of  the  hoe,  and  some- 
what neglect  your  garden  in  explaining  it 


52  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

and  fooling  about  with  it.  I  almost  think 
that,  with  one  of  these  in  the  hands  of  an 
ordinary  day-laborer,  you  might  see  at  night 
where  he  had  been  working. 

Let  us  have  peas.  I  have  been  a  zealous 
advocate  of  the  birds.  I  have  rejoiced  in 
their  multiplication.  I  have  endured  their 
concerts  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
without  a  murmur.  Let  them  come,  I  said, 
and  eat  the  worms,  in  order  that  we,  later, 
may  enjoy  the  foliage  and  the  fruits  of  the 
earth.  We  have  a  cat,  a  magnificent  an- 
imal, of  the  sex  which  votes  (but  not  a 
pole-cat),  —  so  large  and  powerful  that,  if 
he  were  in  the  army,  he  would  be  called 
Long  Tom.  He  is  a  cat  of  fine  disposi- 
tion, the  most  irreproachable  morals  I  ever 
saw  thrown  away  in  a  cat,  and  a  splendid 
hunter.  He  spends  his  nights,  not  in  social 
dissipation,  but  in  gathering  in  rats,  mice, 
flying-squirrels,  and  also  birds.  When  he 
first  brought  me  a  bird,  I  told  him  that  it 
was  wrong,  and  tried  to  convince  him,  while 
he  was  eating  it,  that  he  was  doing  wrong; 


WHAT  1  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      53 

for  he  is  a  reasonable  cat,  and  understands 
pretty  much  everything  except  the  binomial 
theorem  and  the  time  down  the  cycloidal 
arc.  But  with  no  effect.  The  killing  of 
birds  went  on,  to  my  great  regret  and  shame. 
The  other  day  I  went  to  my  garden  to 
get  a  mess  of  peas.  I  had  seen  the  day  be- 
fore that  they  were  just  ready  to  pick.  How 
I  had  lined  the  ground,  planted,  hoed,  bushed 
them  !  The  bushes  were  very  fine,  —  seven 
feet  high,  and  of  good  wood.  How  I  had 
delighted  in  the  growing,  the  blowing,  the 
podding  !  What  a  touching  thought  it  was 
that  they  had  all  podded  for  me  !  When  I 
went  to  pick  them  I  found  the  pods  all  split 
open,  and  the  peas  gone.  The  dear  little 
birds,  who  are  so  fond  of  the  strawberries, 
had  eaten  them  all.  Perhaps  there  were 
left  as  many  as  I  planted ;  I  did  not  count 
them.  I  made*  a  rapid  estimate  of  the  cost 
of  the  seed,  the  interest  of  the  ground,  the 
price  of  labor,  the  value  of  the  bushes,  the 
anxiety  of  weeks  of  watchfulness.  I  looked 
about  me  on  the  face  of  Nature.  The  wind 


54  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

blew  from  the  south  so  soft  and  treacherous ! 
A  thrush  sang  in  the  woods  so  deceitfully ! 
All  Nature  seemed  fair.  But  who  was  to 
give  me  back  my  peas  ?  The  fowls  of  the 
air  have  peas ;  but  what  has  man  ! 

I  went  into  the  house.  I  called  Calvin. 
(That  is  the  name  of  our  cat,  given  him  on 
account  of  his  gravity,  morality,  and  up- 
rightness. We  never  familiarly  call  him 
John.)  I  petted  Calvin.  I  lavished  upon 
him  an  enthusiastic  fondness.  I  told  him 
that  he  had  no  fault ;  that  the  one  action 
that  I  had  called  a  vice  was  an  heroic  exhi- 
bition of  regard  for  my  interests.  I  bade 
him  go  and  do  likewise  continually.  I  now 
saw  how  much  better  instinct  is  than  mere 
unguided  reason.  Calvin  knew.  If  he  had 
put  his  opinion  into  English  (instead  of  his 
native  catalogue),  it  would  have  been,  "  You 
need  not  teach  your  grandmother  to  suck 
eggs."  It  was  only  the  round  of  Nature. 
The  worms  eat  a  noxious  something  in  the 
ground.  The  birds  eat  the  worms.  Calvin 
eats  the  birds.  We  eat  —  no,  we  do  not  eat 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      55 

Calvin.  There  the  chain  stops.  When  you 
ascend  the  scale  of  being,  and  come  to  an 
animal  that  is,  like  ourselves,  inedible,  you 
have  arrived  at  a  result  where  you  can  rest. 
Let  us  respect  the  cat.  He  completes  an 
edible  chain. 

I  have  little  heart  to  discuss  methods  of 
raising  peas.  It  occurs  to  me  that  I  can 
have  an  iron  pea-bush,  a  sort  of  trellis, 
through  which  I  could  discharge  electricity 
at  frequent  intervals,  and  electrify  the  birds 
to  death  when  they  alight :  for  they  stand 
upon  my  beautiful  brush  in  order  to  pick 
out  the  peas.  An  apparatus  of  this  kind, 
with  an  operator,  would  cost,  however,  about 
as  much  as  the  peas.  A  neighbor  suggests 
that  I  might  put  up  a  scarecrow  .near  the 
vines,  which  would  keep  the  birds  away. 
I  am.  doubtful  about  it;  the  birds  are  too 
much  accustomed  to  seeing  a  person  in  poor 
clothes  in  the  garden  to  care  much  for  that. 
Another  neighbor  suggests  that  the  birds  do 
not  open  the  pods ;  that  a  sort  of  blast,  apt 
to  come  after  rain,  splits  the  pods,  and  the 


56  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

birds  then  eat  the  peas.  It  may  be  so. 
There  seems  to  be  complete  unity  of  action 
between  the  blast  and  the  birds.  But,  good 
neighbors,  kind  friends,  I  desire  that  you 
will  not  increase,  by  talk,  a  disappointment 
which  you  cannot  assuage. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      57 


SEVENTH  WEEK. 

A  GARDEN  is  an  awful  responsibility.  You 
never  know  what  you  may  be  aiding  to  grow 
in  it.  I  heard  a  sermon,  not  long  ago,  in 
which  the  preacher  said  that  the  Christian, 
at  the  moment  of  his  becoming  one,  was  as 
perfect  a  Christian  as  he  would  be  if  he 
grew  to  be  an  archangel ;  that  is,  that  he 
would  not  change  thereafter  at  all,  but  only 
develop.  I  do  not  know  whether  this  is 
good  theology  or  not ;  and  I  hesitate  to  sup- 
port it  by  an  illustration  from  my  garden, 
especially  as  I  do  not  want  to  run  the  risk  of 
propagating  error,  and  I  do  not  care  to  give 
away  these  theological  comparisons  to  cler- 
gymen who  make  me  so  little  return  in  the 
way  of  labor.  But  I  find,  in  dissecting  a 
pea-blossom,  that  hidden  in  the  centre  of  it 
is  a  perfect  miniature  pea-pod,  with  the  pea? 
all  in  it,  —  as  perfect  a  pea-pod  as  it  will 


58  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

ever  be ;  only  it  is  as  tiny  as  a  chatelaine 
ornament.  Maize  and  some  other  things 
show  the  same  precocity.  This  confirmation 
of  the  theologic  theory  is  startling,  and  sets 
me  meditating  upon  the  moral  possibilities 
of  my  garden.  I  may  find  in  it  yet  the 
cosmic  egg. 

And,  speaking  of  moral  things,  I  am  half 
determined  to  petition  the  Oecumenical 
Council  to  issue  a  bull  of  excommunication 
against  "  pusley."  Of  all  the  forms  which 
"  error "  has  taken  in  this  world,  I  think 
that  is  about  the  worst.  In  the  Middle 
Ages  the  monks  in  St.  Bernard's  ascetic 
community  at  Clairvaux  excommunicated  a 
vineyard  which  a  less  rigid  monk  had  planted 
near,  so  that  it  bore  nothing.  In  1120  a 
bishop  of  Laon  excommunicated  the  cater- 
pillars in  his  diocese ;  and  the  following  year 
St.  Bernard  excommunicated  the  flies  in  the 
Monastery  of  Foigny ;  and  in  1510  the  ec- 
clesiastical court  pronounced  the  dread  sen- 
tence against  the  rats  of  Autun,  Macon,  and 
Lyons.  "These  examples  are  sufficient  pre- 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     59 

cedents.  It  will  be  well  for  the  council, 
however,  not  to  publish  the  bull  either  just 
before  or  just  after  a  rain  ;  for  nothing  can 
kill  this  pestilent  heresy  when  the  ground  is 
wet. 

It  is  the  time  of  festivals.  Polly  says  we 
ought  to  have  one,  —  a  strawberry-festival. 
She  says  they  are  perfectly  delightful :  it  is 
so  nice  to  get  people  together !  —  this  hot 
weather.  They  create  such  a  good  feeling  ! 
I  myself  am  very  fond  of  festivals.  I  al- 
ways go,  —  when  I  can  consistently.  Be- ' 
sides  the  strawberries,  there  are  ice-creams 
and  cake  and  lemonade,  and  that  sort  of 
thing :  and  one  always  feels  so  well  the  next 
day  after  such  a  diet !  But  as  social  reun- 
ions, if  there  are  good  things  to  eat,  nothing 
can  be  pleasanter  ;  and  they  are  very  profit- 
able, if  you  have  a  good  object.  I  agreed 
that  we  ought  to  have  a  festival ;  but  I  did 
not  know  what  object  to  devote  it  to.  We 
are  not  in  need  of  an  organ,  nor  of  any  pul- 
pit-cushions. I  do  not  know  that  they  use 
pulpit-cushions  now  as  much  as  they  used  to, 


60  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

when  preachers  had  to  have  something  soft 
to  pound,  so  that  they  would  not  hurt  their 
fists.  I  suggested  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and 
flannels  for  next  winter.  But  Polly  says 
that  will  not  do  at  all.  You  must  have  some 
charitable  object,  —  something  that  appeals 
to  a  vast  sense  of  something ;  something  that 
it  will  be  right  to  get  up  lotteries  and  that 
sort  of  thing  for.  I  suggest  a  festival  for 
the  benefit  of  my  garden ;  and  this  seems 
feasible.  In  order  to  make  everything  pass 
off  pleasantly,  invited  guests  will  bring  or 
send  their  own  strawberries  and  cream,  which 
I  shall  be  happy  to  sell  to  them  at  a  slight 
advance.  There  are  a  great  many  improve- 
ments which  the  garden  needs  ;  among  them 
a  sounding-board,  so  that  the  neighbors' 
children  can  hear  when  I  tell  them  to  get  a 
little  farther  off  from  the  currant-bushes.  I 
should  also  like  a  selection  from  the  ten  com- 
mandments, in  big  letters,  posted  up  con- 
spicuously, and  a  few  traps,  that  will  detain, 
but  not  maim,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
cannot  read.  But  what  is  most  important 


WHAT  1  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      61 

is  that  the  ladies  should  crochet  nets  to 
cover  over  the  strawberries.  A  good-sized, 
well-managed  festival  ought  to  produce  nets 
enough  to  cover  my  entire  beds  ;  and  I  can 
think  of  no  other  method  of  preserving  the 
berries  from  the  birds  next  year.  I  wonder 
how  many  strawberries  it  would  need  for  a 
festival,  and  whether  they  would  cost  more 
than  the  nets. 

I  am  more  and  more  impressed,  as  the 
summer  goes  on,  with  the  inequality  of  man's 
fight  with  Nature ;  especially  in  a  civilized 
state.  In  savagery,  it  does  not  so  much 
matter ;  for  one  does  not  take  a  square  hold, 
and  put  out  his  strength,  but  rather  accom- 
modates himself  to  the  situation,  and  takes 
what  he  can  get,  without  raising  any  dust, 
or  putting  himself  into  everlasting  opposi- 
tion. But  the  minute  he  begins  to  clear  a 
spot  larger  than  he  needs  to  sleep  in  for  a 
night,  and  to  try  to  have  his  own  way  in  the 
least,  Nature  is  at  once  up  and  vigilant,  and 
contests  him  at  every  step  with  all  her  inge- 
nuity and  unwearied  vigor.  This  talk  of 


62  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

subduing  Nature  is  pretty  much  nonsense. 
I  do  not  intend  to  surrender  in  the  midst  of 
the  summer  campaign,  yet  I  cannot  but 
think  how  much  more  peaceful  my  relations 
would  now  be  with  the  primal  forces,  if  I 
had  let  Nature  make  the  garden  according 
to  her  own  notion.  (This  is  written  with 
the  thermometer  at  ninety  degrees,  and  the 
weeds  starting  up  with  a  freshness  and  vigor, 
as  if  they  had  just  thought  of  it  for  the  first 
time,  and  had  not  been  cut  down  and 
dragged  out  every  other  day  since  the  snow 
went  off.) 

We  have  got  down  the  forests,  and  exter- 
minated savage  beasts,  but  Nature  is  no  more 
subdued  than  before :  she  only  changes  her 
tactics,  —  uses  smaller  guns,  so  to  speak. 
She  ree'nf  orces  herself  with  a  variety  of  bugs, 
worms,  and  vermin,  and  weeds,  unknown  to 
the  savage  state,  in  order  to  make  war  upon 
the  things  of  our  planting ;  and  calls  in  the 
fowls  of  the  air,  just  as  we  think  the  battle 
is  won,  to  snatch^away  the  booty.  When 
one  gets  almost  weary  of  the  struggle,  she 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      63 

is  as  fresh  as  at  the  beginning,  —  just,  in 
fact,  ready  for  the  fray.  I,  for  my  part,  be- 
gin to  appreciate  the  value  of  frost  and 
snow ;  for  they  give  the  husbandman  a  little 
peace,  and  enable  him,  for  a  season,  to  con- 
template his  incessant  foe  subdued.  I  do 
not  wonder  that  the  tropical  people,  where 
Nature  never  goes  to  sleep,  give  it  up,  and 
sit  in  lazy  acquiescence. 

Here  I  have  been  working  all  the  season 
to  make  a  piece  of  lawn.  It  had  to  be 
graded  and  sowed  and  rolled;  and  I  have 
been  shaving  it  like  a  barber.  When  it  was 
soft  everything  had  a  tendency  to  go  on  to  it, 
—  cows,  and  especially  wandering  hackmen. 
Hackmen  (who  are  a  product  of  civilization) 
know  a  lawn  when  they  see  it.  They  rather 
have  a  fancy  for  it,  and  always  try  to  drive 
so  as  to  cut  the  sharp  borders  of  it,  and 
leave  the  marks  of  their  wheels  in  deep  ruts 
of  cut-up,  ruined  turf.  The  other  morning 
I  had  just  been  running  the  mower  over  the 
lawn,  and  stood  regarding  its  smoothness, 
when  I  noticed  one,  two,  three  puffs  of  fresh 


64  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

earth  in  it ;  and,  hastening  thither,  I  found 
that  the  mole  had  arrived  to  complete  the 
work  of  the  hackmen.  In  a  half  hour  he 
had  rooted  up  the  ground  like  a  pig.  I 
found  his  run-ways.  I  waited  for  him  with 
a  spade.  He  did  not  appear  ;  but,  the  next 
time  I  passed  by  he  had  ridged  the  ground 
in  all  directions,  —  a  smooth,  beautiful  ani- 
mal, with  fur  like  silk,  if  you  could  only 
catch  him.  He  appears  to  enjoy  the  lawn  as 
much  as  the  hackmen  did.  He  does  not 
care  how  smooth  it  is.  He  is  constantly 
mining  and  ridging  it  up.  I  am  not  sure 
but  he  could  be  countermined.  I  have 
half  a  mind  to  put  powder  in  here  and 
there,  and  blow  the  whole  thing  into  the 
air.  Some  folks  set  traps  for  the  mole  ;  but 
my  moles  never  seem  to  go  twice  in  the  same 
place.  I  am  not  sure  but  it  would  bother 
them  to  sow  the  lawn  with  interlacing  snake- 
grass  (the  botanical  name  of  which,  some- 
body writes  me,  is  devil-grass :  the  first  time 
I  have  heard  that  the  Devil  has  a  botanical 
name),  which  would  worry  them,  if  it  is  as 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      65 

difficult  for  them  to  get  through  it  as  it  is 
for  me. 

I  do  not  speak  of  this  mole  in  any  tone  of 
complaint.  He  is  only  a  part  of  the  untiring 
resources  which  Nature  brings  against  the 
humble  gardener.  I  desire  to  write  nothing 
against  him  which  I  should  wish  to  recall  at 
the  last,  —  nothing  foreign  to  the  spirit  of 
that  beautiful  saying  of  the  dying  boy,  "  He 
had  no  copy-book,  which,  dying,  he  was  aorry 
he  had  blotted." 


66  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


EIGHTH  WEEK. 

MY  garden  has  been  visited  by  a  High 
Official  Person.  President  Gr — nt  was  here 
just  before  the  Fourth,  getting  his  mind 
quiet  for  that  event  by  a  few  days  of  retire- 
ment, staying  with  a  friend  at  the  head  of 
our  street ;  and  I  asked  him  if  he  would  n't 
like  to  come  down  our  way  Sunday  after- 
noon, and  take  a  plain,  simple  look  at  my 
garden,  eat  a  little  lemon  ice-cream  and 
jelly-cake,  and  drink  a  glass  of  native  lager- 
beer.  I  thought  of  putting  up  over  my  gate, 
"  Welcome  to  the  Nation's  Gardener ; "  but 
I  hate  nonsense,  and  did  n't  do  it.  I,  how- 
ever, hoed  diligently  on  Saturday:  what 
weeds  I  could  n't  remove  I  buried,  so  that 
everything  would  look  all  right.  The  bor- 
ders of  my  drive  were  trimmed  with  scissors  ; 
and  everything  that  could  offend  the  Eye 
of  the  Great  was  hustled  out  of  the  way. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      67 

In  relating  this  interview,  it  must  be  dis- 
tinctly understood  that  I  am  not  responsible 
for  anything  that  the  President  said  ;  nor  is 
he,  either.  He  is  not  a  great  speaker,  but 
whatever  he  says  has  an  esoteric  and  an  ex- 
oteric meaning;  and  some  of  his  remarks 
about  my  vegetables  went  very  deep.  I  said 
nothing  to  him  whatever  about  politics,  at 
which  he  seemed  a  good  deal  surprised :  he 
said  it  was  the  first  garden  he  had  ever  been 
in,  with  a  man,  when  the  talk  was  not  of 
appointments.  I  told  him  that  this  was 
purely  vegetable ;  after  which  he  seemed 
more  at  his  ease,  and,  in  fact,  delighted  with 
everything  he  saw.  He  was  much  interested 
in  my  strawberry  -  beds,  asked  what  varie- 
ties I  had,  and  requested  me  to  send  him 
some  seed.  He  said  the  patent-office  seed 
was  as  difficult  to  raise  as  an  appropriation 
for  the  St.  Domingo  business.  The  playful 
bean  seemed  also  to  please  him,  and  he  said 
he  had  never  seen  such  impressive  corn  and 
potatoes  at  this  time  of  year;  that  it  was 
to  him  an  unexpected  pleasure,  and  one  of 


68  MY  SUMMER  IN  A    GARDEN. 

the  choicest  memories  that  he  should  take 
away  with  him  of  his  visit  to  New  England. 

N.  B.  —  That  corn  and  those  potatoes 
which  General  Gr — nt  looked  at  I  will  sell 
for  seed,  at  five  dollars  an  ear  and  one  dol- 
lar a  potato.  Office-seekers  need  not  apply. 

Knowing  the  President's  great  desire  for 
peas,  I  kept  him  from  that  part  of  the  gar- 
den where  the  vines  grow.  But  they  could 
not  be  concealed.  Those  who  say  that  the 
President  is  not  a  man  easily  moved  are 
knaves  or  fools.  When  he  saw  my  pea-pods, 
ravaged  by  the  birds,  he  burst  into  tears. 
A  man  of  war,  he  knows  the  value  of  peas. 
I  told  him  they  were  an  excellent  sort,  "  The 
Champion  of  England."  As  quick  as  a  flash 
he  said,  — 

"  Why  don't  you  call  them  '  The  Keverdy 
Johnson '  ?  " 

It  was  a  very  clever  bon-mot ;  but  I 
changed  the  subject. 

The  sight  of  my  squashes,  with  stalks  as 
big  as  speaking-trumpets,  restored  the  Presi- 
dent to  his  usual  spirits.  He  said  the  sum- 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      69 

mer  squash  was  the  most  ludicrous  vegetable 
he  knew.  It  was  nearly  all  leaf  and  blow, 
with  only  a  sickly,  crook-necked  fruit  after 
a  mighty  fuss.  It  reminded  him  of  the  mem- 
ber of  Congress  from ;  but  I  hastened 

to  change  the  subject. 

As  we  walked  along,  the  keen  eye  of  the 
President  rested  upon  some  handsome  sprays 
of  "  pusley,"  which  must  have  grown  up 
since  Saturday  night.  It  was  most  fortu- 
nate ;  for  it  led  his  Excellency  to  speak  of 
the  Chinese  problem.  He  said  he  had  been 
struck  with  one  coupling  of  the  Chinese  and 
"  pusley  "  in  one  of  my  agricultural  papers ; 
and  it  had  a  significance  more  far-reaching 
than  I  had  probably  supposed.  He  had 
made  the  Chinese  problem  a  special  study. 
He  said  that  I  was  right  in  saying  that "  pus- 
ley  "  was  the  natural  food  of  the  Chinaman, 
and  that  where  the  "pusley"  was,  there 
would  the  Chinaman  be  also.  For  his  part, 
he  welcomed  the  Chinese  emigration:  we 
needed  the  Chinaman  in  our  gardens  to  eat 
the  "  pusley ; "  and  he  thought  the  whole 


70  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

problem  solved  by  this  simple  consideration. 
To  get  rid  of  rats  and  "  pusley,"  he  said, 
was  a  necessity  of  our  civilization.  He  did 
not  care  so  much  about  the  shoe-business ; 
he  did  not  think  that  the  little  Chinese  shoes 
that  he  had  seen  would  be  of  service  in  the 
army :  but  the  garden-interest  was  quite  an- 
other affair.  We  want  to  make  a  garden  of 
our  whole  country :  the  hoe,  in  the  hands  of  a 
man  truly  great,  he  was  pleased  to  say,  was 
mightier  than  the  pen.  He  presumed  that 
General  B — tl — r  had  never  taken  into  con- 
sideration the  garden-question,  or  he  would 
not  assume  the  position  he  does  with  regard 
to  the  Chinese  emigration.  He  would  let 
the  Chinese  come,  even  if  B — tl — r  had  to 
leave,  I  thought  he  was  going  to  say;  but  I 
changed  the  subject. 

During  our  entire  garden  interview  (op- 
eratically  speaking,  the  garden-scene),  the 
President  was  not  smoking.  I  do  not  know 
how  the  impression  arose  that  he  "uses 
tobacco  in  any  form ;  "  for  I  have  seen  him 
several  times,  and  he  was  not  smoking. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.       71 

Indeed,  I  offered  him  a  Connecticut  six; 
but  he  wittily  said  that  he  did  not  like  a 
weed  in  a  garden,  —  a  remark  which  I  took 
to  have  a  personal  political  bearing,  and 
changed  the  subject. 

The  President  was  a  good  deal  surprised 
at  the  method  and  fine  appearance  of  my 
garden,  and  to  learn  that  I  had  the  sole  care 
of  it.  He  asked  me  if  I  pursued  an  original 
course,  or  whether  I  got  my  ideas  from  wri- 
ters on  the  subject.  I  told  him  that  I  had 
had  no  time  to  read  anything  on  the  subject 
since  I  began  to  hoe,  except  "  Lothair," 
from  which  I  got  my  ideas  of  landscape-gar- 
dening ;  and  that  I  had  worked  the  garden 
entirely  according  to  my  own  notions,  except 
that  I  had  borne  in  mind  his  injunction,  "  to 
fight  it  out  on  this  line  if  v  —  The  President 
stopped  me  abruptly,  and  said  it  was  un- 
necessary to  repeat  that  remark :  he  thought 
he  had  heard  it  before.  Indeed,  he  deeply 
regretted  that  he  had  ever  made  it.  Some- 
times, he  said,  after  hearing  it  in  speeches, 
and  coming  across  it  in  resolutions,  and 


72  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

reading  it  in  newspapers,  and  having  it 
dropped  jocularly  by  facetious  politicians 
who  were  boring  him  for  an  office,  about 
twenty-five  times  a  day,  say  for  a  month,  it 
would  get  to  running  through  his  head,  like 
the  "  shoo-fly  "  song  which  B — tl — r  sings 
in  the  House,  until  it  did  seem  as  if  he 
should  go  distracted.  He  said  no  man 
could  stand  that  kind  of  sentence  hammering 
on  his  brain  for  years. 

The  President  was  so  much  pleased  with 
my  management  of  the  garden  that  he  of- 
fered me  (at  least,  I  so  understood  him)  the 
position  of  head  gardener  at  the  White 
House,  to  have  care  of  the  exotics.  I  told 
him  that  I  thanked  him,  but  that  I  did  not 
desire  any  foreign  appointment.  I  had  re- 
solved, when  the  administration  came  in,  not 
to  take  an  appointment ;  and  I  had  kept  my 
resolution.  As  to  any  home  office,  I  was 
poor,  but  honest ;  and  of  course  it  would  be 
useless  for  me  to  take  one.  The  President 
mused  a  moment,  and  then  smiled,  and  said 
he  would  see  what  could  be  done  for  me 


WHAT  1  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      73 

I  did  not  change  the  subject ;  but  nothing 
further  was  said  by  General  Gr — nt. 

The  President  is  a  great  talker  (contrary 
to  the  general  impression) ;  but  I  think  he 
appreciated  his  quiet  hour  in  my  garden. 
He  said  it  carried  him  back  to  his  youth 
farther  than  anything  he  had  seen  lately. 
He  looked  forward  with  delight  to  the  time 
when  he  could  again  have  his  private  garden, 
grow  his  own  lettuce  and  tomatoes,  and  not 
have  to  get  so  much  "  sarce "  from  Con- 
gress. 

The  chair  in  which  the  President  sat, 
while  declining  to  take  a  glass  of  lager,  I 
have  had  destroyed,  in  order  that  no  one  may 
sit  in  it.  It  was  the  only  way  to  save  it,  if 
I  may  so  speak.  It  would  have  been  impos- 
sible to  keep  it  from  use  by  any  precautions. 
There  are  people  who  would  have  sat  in  it, 
if  the  seat  had  been  set  with  iron  spikes. 
Such  is  the  adoration  of  Station. 


74  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


NINTH  WEEK. 

I  AM  more  and  more  impressed  with  the 
moral  qualities  of  vegetables,  and  contem- 
plate forming  a  science  which  shall  rank 
with  comparative  anatomy  and  comparative 
philology,  —  the  science  of  comparative  veg- 
etable morality.  We  live  in  an  age  of  pro-- 
toplasm.  And,  if  life-matter  is  essentially 
the  same  in  all  forms  of  life,  I  purpose  to 
begin  early,  and  ascertain  the  nature  of  the 
plants  for  which  I  am  responsible.  I  will 
not  associate  with  any  vegetable  which  is 
disreputable,  or  has  not  some  quality  that 
can  contribute  to  my  moral  growth.  I  do 
not  care  to  be  seen  much  with  the  squashes 
or  the  dead-beets.  Fortunately  I  can  cut 
down  any  sorts  I  do  not  like  with  the  hoe, 
and,  probably,  commit  no  more  sin  in  so  do. 
ing  than  the  Christians  did  in  hewing  down 
the  Jews  in  the  Middle  Ages. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      75 

Tliis  matter  of  vegetable  rank  has  not 
been  at  all  studied  as  it  should  be.  Why 
do  we  respect  some  vegetables,  and  despise 
others,  when  all  of  them  come  to  an  equal 
honor  or  ignominy  on  the  table  ?  The  bean 
is  a  graceful,  confiding,  engaging  vine  ;  but 
you  never  can  put  beans  into  poetry,  nor 
into  the  highest  sort  of  prose.  There  is  no 
dignity  in  the  bean.  Corn,  which  in  my 
garden  grows  alongside  the  bean,  and,  so 
far  as  I  can  see,  with  no  affectation  of  supe- 
riority, is,  however,  the  child  of  song.  It 
waves  in  all  literature.  But  mix  it  with 
beans,  and  its  high  tone  is  gone.  Succotash 
is  vulgar.  It  is  the  bean  in  it.  The  bean 
is  a  vulgar  vegetable,  without  culture,  or  any 
flavor  of  high  society  among  vegetables. 
Then  there  is  the  cool  cucumber,  like  so 
many  people,  —  good  for  nothing  when  it  is 
ripe  and  the  wildness  has  gone  out  of  it. 
How  inferior  in  quality  it  is  to  the  melon, 
which  grows  upon  a  similar  vine,  is  of  a  like 
watery  consistency,  but  is  not  half  so  valu- 
able !  The  cucumber  is  a  sort  of  low  come- 


76  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

dian  in  a  company  where  the  melon  is  a  mi- 
nor gentleman.  I  might  also  contrast  the 
celery  with  the  potato.  The  associations 
are  as  opposite  as  the  dining-room  of  the 
duchess  and  the  cabin  of  the  peasant.  I 
admire  the  potato,  both  in  vine  and  blossom ; 
but  it  is  not  aristocratic.  /'  I  began  digging 
my  potatoes,  by  the  way,  about  the  4th  of 
July ;  and  I  fancy  I  have  discovered  the 
right  way  to  do  it.  I  treat  the  potato  just 
as  I  would  a  cow.  I  do  not  pull  them  up, 
and  shake  them  out,  and  destroy  them ;  but 
I  dig  carefully  at  the  side  of  the  hill,  remove 
the  fruit  which  is  grown,  leaving  the  vine 
undisturbed :  and  my  theory  is  that  it  will 
go  on  bearing,  and  submitting  to  my  exac- 
tions, until  the  frost  cuts  it  down.  It  is  a 
game  that  one  would  not  undertake  with  a 
vegetable  of  tone.  | 

The  lettuce  is  to  me  a  most  interesting 
study.  Lettuce  is  like  conversation :  it  must 
be  fresh  and  crisp,  so  sparkling  that  you 
scarcely  notice  the  bitter  in  it.  Lettuce,  like 
most  talkers,  is,  however,  apt  to  run  rapidly 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      77 

to  seed.  Blessed  is  that  sort  which  comes  to 
a  head,  and  so  remains,  like  a  few  people  1 
know;  growing  more  solid  and  satisfactory 
and  tender  at  the  same  time,  and  whiter  at 
the  centre,  and  crisp  in  -tjieir  maturity. 
Lettuce,  like  conversation,  requires  a  good 
deal  of  oil,  to  avoid  friction,  and  keep  the 
company  smooth ;  a  pinch  of  attic  salt ;  a 
dash  of  pepper  ;  a  quantity  of  mustard  and 
vinegar,  by  all  means,  but  so  mixed  that  you 
will  notice  no  sharp  contrasts ;  and  a  trifle 
of  sugar.  You  can  put  anything,  and  the 
more  things  the  better,  into  salad,  as  into 
a  conversation ;  but  everything  depends  upon 
the  skill  of  mixing.  I  feel  that  I  am  in 
the  best  society  when  I  am  with  lettuce. 
It  is  in  the  select  circle  of  vegetables.  |  The 
tomato  appears  well  on  the  table ;  but  you 
do  not  want  to  ask  its  origin.  It  is  a  most 
agreeable  parvenu.  Of  course,  I  have  said 
nothing  about  the  berries.  They  live  in  an- 
other and  more  ideal  region:  except,  per- 
haps, the  currant.  Here  we  see  that,  even 
among  berries,  there  are»degrees  of  breed; 


78  MT  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

ing.  The  currant  is  well  enough,  clear  as 
truth,  and  exquisite  in  color ;  but  I  ask  you 
to  notice  how  far  it  is  from  the  exclusive 
hauteur  of  the  aristocratic  strawberry,  and 
the  native  refinement  of  the  quietly  elegant 
raspberry. 

I  do  not  know  that  chemistry,  searching 
for  protoplasm,  is  able  to  discover  the  ten- 
dency of  vegetables.  It  can  only  be  found 
out  by  outward  observation.  I  confess  that 
I  am  suspicious  of  the  bean,  for  instance. 
There  are  signs  in  it  of  an  unregulated  life. 
I  put  up  the  most  attractive  sort  of  poles  for 
my  Limas.  They  stand  high  and  straight, 
like  church-spires,  in  my  theological  garden, 
—  lifted  up ;  and  some  of  them  have  even 
budded,  like  Aaron's  rod.  No  church-stee- 
ple in  a  New  England  village  was  ever  better 
fitted  to  draw  to  it  the  rising  generation  on 
Sunday  than  those  poles  to  lift  up  my  beans 
towards  heaven.  Some  of  them  did  run 
up  the  sticks  seven  feet,  and  then  straggled 
off  into  the  air  in  a  wanton  manner ;  but 
more  than  half  of  *them  went  galivanting  off 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      79 

to  the  neighboring  grape-trellis,  and  wound 
their  tendrils  with  the  tendrils  of  the  grape, 
with  a  disregard  of  the  proprieties  of  life 
which  is  a  satire  upon  human  nature.  And 
the  grape  is  morally  no  better.  I  think 
the  ancients,  who  were  not  troubled  with 
the  recondite  mystery  of  protoplasm,  were 
right  in  the  mythic  union  of  Bacchus  and 
Venus. 

Talk  about  the  Darwinian  theory  of  de- 
velopment and  the  principle  of  natural  se- 
lection !  I  should  like  to  see  a  garden  let  to 
run  in  accordance  with  it.  If  I  had  left  my 
vegetables  and  weeds  to  a  free  fight,  in  which 
the  strongest  specimens  only  should  come  to 
maturity,  and  the  weaker  go  to  the  wall,  I 
can  clearly  see  that  I  should  have  had  a 
pretty  mess  of  it.  It  would  have  been  a  scene 
of  passion  and  license  and  brutality.  The 
"  pusley "  would  have  strangled  the  straw- 
berry ;  the  upright  corn,  which  has  now  ears 
to  hear  the  guilty  beating  of  the  hearts  of 
the  children  who  steal  the  raspberries,  would 
have  been  dragged  to  the  earth  by  the  wan- 


80  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

dering  bean  ;  the  snake-grass  would  have  left 
the  place  for  the  potatoes  under  ground  ;  and 
the  tomatoes  would  have  been  swamped  by 
the  lusty  weeds.  With  a  firm  hand,  I  have 
had  to  make  my  own  "  natural  selection." 
Nothing  will  so  well  bear  watching  as  a  gar- 
den except  a  family  of  children  next  door. 
Their  power  of  selection  beats  mine.  If 
they  could  read  half  as  well  as  they  can  steal 
awhile  away,  I  should  put  up  a  notice, 
"  Children,  beware!  There  is  Protoplasm 
here"  But  I  suppose  it  would  have  no  ef- 
fect. I  believe  they  would  eat  protoplasm  as 
quick  as  anything  else,  ripe  or  green.  I 
wonder  if  this  is  going  to  be  a  cholera-year. 
Considerable  cholera  is  the  only  thing  that 
would  let  my  apples  and  pears  ripen.  Of 
course  I  do  not  care  for  the  fruit ;  but  I  do 
not  want  to  take  the  responsibility  of  letting 
so  much  "  life-matter,"  full  of  crude  and  even 
wicked  vegetable-human  tendencies,  pass  into 
the  composition  of  the  neighbors'  children, 
some  of  whom  may  be  as  immortal  as  snake- 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      81 

There  ought  to  be  a  public  meeting  about 
this,  and  resolutions,  and  perhaps  a  clam- 
bake. At  least,  it  ought  to  be  put  into  the 
catechism,  and  put  in  strong. 


82  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


TENTH  WEEK. 

I  THINK  I  have  discovered  the  way  to 
keep  peas  from  the  birds.  I  tried  the  scare- 
crow plan,  in  a  way  which  I  thought  would 
outwit  the  shrewdest  bird.  The  brain  of  the 
bird  is  not  large  ;  but  it  is  all  concentrated 
on  one  object,  and  that  is  the  attempt  to 
elude  the  devices  of  modern  civilization 
which  injure  his  chances  of  food.  I  knew 
that,  if  I  put  up  a  complete  stuffed  man, 
the  bird  would  detect  the  imitation  at  once ; 
the  perfection  of  the  thing  would  show  him 
that  it  was  a  trick.  People  always  overdo 
the  matter  when  they  attempt  deception.  I 
therefore  hung  some  loose  garments,  of  a 
bright  color,  upon  a  rake-head,  and  set  them 
up  among  the  vines.  The  supposition  was, 
that  the  bird  would  think  there  was  an 
effort  to  trap  him,  that  there  was  a  man 
behind,  holding  up  these  garments,  and 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      83 

would  sing,  as  he  kept  at  a  distance,  "  You 
can't  catch  me  with  any  such  double  device."  ' 
The  bird  would  know,  or  think  he  knew, 
that  I  would  not  hang  up  such  a  scare,  in 
the  expectation  that  it  would  pass  for  a  man, 
and  deceive  a  bird ;  and  he  woidd  therefore 
look  for  a  deeper  plot.  I  expected  to  out- 
wit the  bird  by  a  duplicity  that  was  sim- 
plicity itself.  I  may  have  over-calculated 
the  sagacity  and  reasoning  power  of  the  bird. 
At  any  rate,  I  did  over-calculate  the  amount 
of  peas  I  should  gather. 

But  my  game  was  only  half  played.  In 
another  part  of  the  garden  were  other  peas, 
growing  and  blowing.  To  these  I  took  good 
care  not  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  bird 
by  any  scarecrow  whatever !  •  I  left  the  old 
scarecrow  conspicuously  flaunting  above  the 
old  vines ;  and  by  this  means  I  hope  to  keep 
the  attention  of  the  birds  confined  to  that 
side  of  the  garden.  I  am  convinced  that 
this  is  the  true  use  of  a  scarecrow:  it  is  a 
lure,  and  not  a  warning.  If  you  wish  to 
save  men  from  any  particular  vice,  set  up  a 


84  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

tremendous  cry  of  warning  about  some  other, 
and  they  will  all  give  their  special  efforts  to 
the  one  to  which  attention  is  called.  This 
profound  truth  is  about  the  only  thing  I 
have  yet  realized  out  of  my  pea-vines. 

However,  the  garden  does  begin  to  yield. 
I  know  of  nothing  that  makes  one  feel  more 
complacent,  in  these  July  days,  than  to  have 
his  vegetables  from  his  own  garden.  What 
an  effect  it  has  on  the  market-man  and 
the  butcher!  It  is  a  kind  of  declaration 
of  independence.  The  market-man  shows 
me  his  peas  and  beets  and  tomatoes,  and 
supposes  he  shall  send  me  out  some  with 
the  meat.  "  No,  I  thank  you,"  I  say  care- 
lessly :  "  I  am  raising  my  own  this  year." 
Whereas  I  have  been  wont  to  remark, 
"  Your  vegetables  look  a  little  wilted  this 
weather,"  I  now  say,  "What  a  fine  lot  of 
vegetables  you  've  got !  "  When  a  man  is 
not  going  to  buy,  he  can  afford  to  be  gener- 
ous. To  raise  his  own  vegetables  makes  a 
person  feel,  somehow,  more  liberal.  I  think 
the  butcher  is  touched  by  the  influence,  and 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      85 

cuts  off  a  better  roast  for  me.  The  butcher 
is  my  friend  when  he  sees  that  I  am  not 
wholly  dependent  on  him. 

It  is  at  home,  however,  that  the  effect  is 
most  marked,  though  sometimes  in  a  way 
that  I  had  not  expected.  I  have  never  read 
of  any  Roman  supper  that  seemed  to  me 
equal  to  a  dinner  of  my  own  vegetables, 
when  everything  on  the  table  is  the  product 
of  my  own  labor,  except  the  clams,  which  I 
have  not  been  able  to  raise  yet,  and  the 
chickens,  which  have  withdrawn  from  the 
garden  just  when  they  were  most  attractive. 
It  is  strange  what  a  taste  you  suddenly  have 
for  things  you  never  liked  before.  The 
squash  has  always  been  to  me  a  dish  of  con- 
tempt; but  I  eat  it  now  as  if  it  were  my 
best  friend.  I  never  cared  for  the  beet  or 
the  bean ;  but  I  fancy  now  that  I  could  eat 
them  all,  tops  and  all,  so  completely  have 
they  been  transformed  by  the  soil  in  which 
they  grew.  I  think  the  squash  is  less  squashy, 
and  the  beet  has  a  deeper  hue  of  rose,  foi 
my  care  of  them. 


86  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

I  had  begun  to  nurse  a  good  deal  of  pride 
in  presiding  over  a  table  whereon  was  the 
fruit  of  my  honest  industry.  But  woman ! 
—  John  Stuart  Mill  is  right  when  he  says 
that  we  do  not  know  anything  about  women. 
Six  thousand  years  is  as  one  day  with  them. 
I  thought  I  had  something  to  do  with  those 
vegetables. 

But  when  I  saw  Polly  seated  at  her  side 
of  the  table,  presiding  over  the  new  and  sus- 
ceptible vegetables,  flanked  by  the  squash 
and  the  beans,  and '  smiling  upon  the  green 
corn  and  the  new  potatoes,  as  cool  as  the 
cucumbers  which  lay  sliced  in  ice  before  her, 
and  when  she  began  to  dispense  the  fresh 
dishes,  I  saw  at  once  that  the  day  of  my 
destiny  was  over.  You  would  have  thought 
that  she  owned  all  the  vegetables,  and  had 
raised  them  all  from  their  earliest  years. 
Such  quiet,  vegetable  airs !  Such  gracious 
appropriation ! 

At  length  I  said,  — 

"  Polly,  do  you  know  who  planted  that 
squash,  or  those  squashes  ?  " 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      87 

"  James,  I  suppose." 

"  "Well,  yes,  perhaps  James  did  plant 
them  to  a  certain  extent.  But  who  hoed 
them  ?  " 

"  We  did." 

"  We  did !  "  I  said  in  the  most  sarcastic 
manner.  "And  I  suppose  we  put  on  the 
sackcloth  and  ashes,  when  the  striped  bug 
came  at  four  o'clock,  A.  M.,  and  we  watched 
the  tender  leaves,  and  watered  night  and 
morning  the  feeble  plants.  I  tell  you,  Pol- 
ly," said  I,  uncorking  the  Bordeaux  rasp- 
berry vinegar,  "  there  is  not  a  pea  here  that 
does  not  represent  a  drop  of  moisture  wrung 
from  my  brow,  not  a  beet  that  does  not 
stand  for  a  backache,  not  a  squash  that  has 
not  caused  me  untold  anxiety,  and  I  did 
hope  —  but  I  will  say  no  more." 

Observation.  —  In  this  sort  of  family  dis- 
cussion, "  I  will  say  no  more "  is  the  most 
effective  thing  you  can  close  up  with. 

I  am  not  an  alarmist.  I  hope  I  am  as 
cool  as  anybody  this  hot  summer.  But  I  am 
quite  ready  to  say  to  Polly  or  any  other 


88  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

woman,  "You  can  have  the  ballot;  only 
leave  me  the  vegetables,  or,  what  is  more 
important,-  the  consciousness  of  power  in 
vegetables."  I  see  how  it  is.  Woman  is 
now  supreme  in  the  house.  She  already 
stretches  out  her  hand  to  grasp  the  garden. ' 
She  will  gradually  control  everything.  Wo- 
man is  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  cunning 
creatures  who  have  ever  mingled  in  human 
affairs.  ;  I  understand  those  women  who  say 
they  don't  want  the  ballot.  They  purpose 
to  hold  the  real  power  while  we  go  through 
the  mockery  of  making  laws.  They  want 
the  power  without  the  responsibility.  (Sup- 
pose my  squash  had  not  come  up,  or  my 
beans  —  as  they  threatened  at  one  time  — 
had  gone  the  wrong  way:  where  would  I 
have  been  ?)  We  are  to  be  held  to  all  the 
responsibilities.  Woman  takes  the  lead  in 
all  the  departments,  leaving  us  politics  only. 
And  what  is  politics?  Let  me  raise  the 
vegetables  of  a  nation,  says  Polly,  and  I 
care  not  who  makes  its  politics.  Here  I  sat 
at  the  table,  armed  with  the  ballot,  but 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      89 

really  powerless  among  my  own  vegetables. 
While  we  are  being  amused  by  the  ballot, 
woman  is  quietly  taking  things  into  her  own 
hands. 


90  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


ELEVENTH  WEEK. 

PEEHAPS,  after  all,  it  is  not  what  you  get 
out  of  a  garden,  but  what  you  put  into  it, 
that  is  the  most  remunerative.  What  is 
a.  man  ?  A  question  frequently  asked,  and 
never,  so  far  as  I  know,  satisfactorily  an- 
swered. He  commonly  spends  his  seventy 
years,  if  so  many  are  given  him,  in  getting 
ready  to  enjoy  himself.  How  many  hours, 
how  many  minutes,  does  one  get  of  that  pure 
content  which  is  happiness  ?  I  do  not  mean 
laziness,  which  is  always  discontent ;  but 
that  serene  enjoyment,  in  which  all  the  nat- 
ural senses  have  easy  play,  and  the  unnatural 
ones  have  a  holiday.  There  is  probably 
nothing  that  has  such  a  tranquillizing  effect, 
and  leads  into  such  content,  as  gardening. 
By  gardening  I  do  not  mean  that  insane 
desire  to  raise  vegetables  which  some  have, 
but  the  philosophical  occupation  of  contact 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      91 

with  the  earth,  and  companionship  with 
gently  growing  things  and  patient  processes ; 
that  exercise  which  soothes  the  spirit  and 
develops  the  deltoid  muscles. 

In  half  an  hour  I  can  hoe  myself  right 
away  from  this  world,  as  we  commonly  see  it, 
into  a  large  place,  where  there  are  no  obsta- 
cles. What  an  occupation  it  is  for  thought! 
The  mind  broods,  like  a  hen  on  eggs.  The 
trouble  is  that  you  are  not  thinking  about 
anything,  but  are  really  vegetating,  like  the 
plants  around  you.  I  begin  to  know  what 
the  joy  of  the  grape-vine  is  in  running  up 
the  trellis,  which  is  similar  to  that  of  the 
squirrel  in  running  up  a  tree.  We  all  have 
something  in  our  nature  that  requires  con- 
tact with  the  earth.  In  the  solitude  of 
garden  labor,  one  gets  into  a  sort  of  com- 
munion with  the  vegetable  life,  which  makes 
the  old  mythology  possible.  For  instance,  I 
can  believe  that  the  dryads  are  plenty  this 
summer :  my  garden  is  like  an  ash-heap. 
Almost  all  the  moisture  it  has  had  in  weeks 
has  been  the  sweat  of  honest  industry. 


92  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

The  pleasure  of  gardening  in  these  days 
when  the  thermometer  is  at  ninety,  is  ona 
that  I  fear  I  shall  not  be  able  to  make  intel- 
ligible to  my  readers,  many  of  whom  do  not 
appreciate  the  delight  of  soaking  in  the  sun- 
shine. I  suppose  that  the  sun,  going  through 
a  man,  as  it  will  on  such  a  day,  takes  out 
of  him  rheumatism,  consumption,  and  every 
other  disease,  except  sudden  death  —  from 
sunstroke.  But,  aside  from  this,  there  is 
an  odor  from  the  evergreens,  the  hedges,  the 
various  plants  and  vines,  that  is  only  ex- 
pressed and  set  afloat  at  a  high  temperature, 
which  is  delicious ;  and,  hot  as  it  may  be,  a 
little  breeze  will  come  at  intervals,  which 
can  be  heard  in  the  tree-tops,  and  which  is 
an  unobtrusive  benediction.  I  hear  a  quail 
or  two  whistling  in  the  ravine ;  and  there 
is  a  good  deal  of  fragmentary  conversation 
going  on  among  the  birds,  even  on  the  warm- 
est Hays.  The  companionship  of  Calvin, 
also,  counts  for  a  good  deal.  He  usually 
attends  me,  unless  I  work  too  long  in  one 
place ;  sitting  down  on  the  turf,  displaying 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      93 

the  ermine  of  his  breast,  and  watching  my 
movements  with  great  intelligence.  He  has 
a  feline  and  genuine  love  for  the  beauties 
of  Nature,  and  will  establish  himself  where 
there  is  a  good  view,  and  look  on  it  for 
hours.  He  always  accompanies  us  when  we 
go  to  gather  the  vegetables,  seeming  to  be 
desirous  to  know  what  we  are  to  have  for 
dinner.  He  is  a  connoisseur  in  the  garden  ; 
being  fond  of  almost  all  the  vegetables,  ex- 
cept the  cucumber,  —  a  dietetic  hint  to  man. 
I  believe  it  is  also  said  that  the  pig  will  not 
eat  tobacco.  These  are  important  facts.  It 
is  singular,  however,  that  those  who  hold  up 
the  pigs  as  models  to  us  never  hold  us  up  as 
models  to  the  pigs. 

I  wish  I  knew  as  much  about  natural  his- 
tory and  the  habits  of  animals  as  Calvin  does. 
He  is  the  closest  observer  I  ever  saw ;  and 
there  are  few  species  of  animals  on  the  place 
that  he  has  not  analyzed.  I  think  that  he 
has,  to  use  a  euphemism  very  applicable  to 
him,  got  outside  of  every  one  of  them,  ex- 
cept ihe  toad.  To  the  toad  he  is  entirely 


94  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

indifferent ;  but  I  presume  he  knows  that 
the  toad  is  the  most  useful  animal  in  the  gar- 
den. I  think  the  Agricultural  Society  ought 
to  offer  a  prize  for  the  finest  toad.  When 
Polly  comes  to  sit  in  the  shade  near  my 
strawberry-beds,  to  shell  peas,  Calvin  is  al- 
ways lying  near  in  apparent  obliviousness  ; 
but  not  the  slightest  unusual  sound  can  be 
made  in  the  bushes  that  he  is  not  alert,  and 
prepared  to  investigate  the  cause  of  it.  It 
is  this  habit  of  observation,  so  cultivated, 
which  has  given  him  such  a  trained  mind,  and 
made  him  so  philosophical.  It  is  within  the 
capacity  of  even  the  humblest  of  us  to  attain 
this. 

And,  speaking  of  the  philosophical  temper, 
there  is  no  class  of  men  whose  society  is 
more  to  be  desired  for  this  quality  than  that 
of  plumbers.  They  are  the  most  agreeable 
men  I  know ;  and  the  boys  in  the  business  be- 
gin to  be  agreeable  very  early.  I  suspect  the 
secret  of  it  is  that  they  are  agreeable  by  the 
hour.  In  the  driest  days,  my  fountain  be- 
came disabled  :  the  pipe  was  stopped  up.  A 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      95 

couple  of  plumbers,  with  the  implements  of 
their  craft,  came  out  to  view  the  situation. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  difference  of  opin- 
ion about  where  the  stoppage  was.  I  found 
the  plumbers  perfectly  willing  to  sit  down 
and  talk  about  it,  —  talk  by  the  hour. 
Some  of  their  guesses  and  remarks  were  ex- 
ceedingly ingenious ;  and  their  general  ob- 
servations on  other  subjects  were  excellent 
in  their  way,  and  could  hardly  have  been 
better  if  they  had  been  made  by  the  job. 
The  work  dragged  a  little,  —  as  it  is  apt  to 
do  by  the  hour.  The  plumbers  had  occa- 
sion to  make  me  several  visits.  Sometimes 
they  would  find,  upon  arrival,  that  they  had 
forgotten  some  indispensable  tool ;  and  one 
would  go  back  to  the  shop,  a  mile  and  a 
half,  after  it ;  and  his  comrade  would  await 
his  return  with  the  most  exemplary  patience, 
and  sit  down  and  talk,  —  always  by  the  hour. 
I  do  not  know  but  it  is  a  habit  to  have  some- 
thing wanted  at  the  shop.  They  seemed  to 
me  very  good  workmen,  and  always  willing 
to  stop  and  talk  about  the  job,  or  anything 


96  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

else,  when  I  went  near  them.  Nor  had  they 
any  of  that  impetuous  hurry  \hat  is  said  to 
be  the  bane  of  our  American  civilization. 
To  their  credit  be  it  said  that  I  never  ob- 
served anything  of  it  in  them.  They  can 
afford  to  wait.  Two  of  them  will  some- 
times wait  nearly  half  a  day  while  a  com- 
rade goes  for  a  tool.  They  are  patient  and 
philosophical.  It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  meet 
such  men.  One  only  wishes  there  was  some 
work  he  could  do  for  them  by  the  hour. 
There  ought  to  be  reciprocity.  I  think  they 
have  very  nearly  solved  the  problem  of  Life : 
it  is  to  work  for  other  people,  never  for 
yourself,  and  get  your  pay  by  the  hour. 
You  then  have  no  anxiety,  and  little  work. 
If  you  do  things  by  the  job,  you  are  perpet- 
ually driven :  the  hours  are  scourges.  If  you 
work  by  the  hour,  you  gently  sail  on  the 
stream  of  Time,  which  is  always  bearing 
you  on  to  the  haven  of  Pay,  whether  you 
make  any  effort,  or  not.  Working  by  the 
hour  tends  to  make  one  moral.  A  plumber 
working  by  the  job,  trying  to  unscrew  a 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      97 

rusty,  refractory  nut,  in  a  cramped  posi- 
tion, where  the  tongs  continually  slipped 
off,  would  swear;  but  I  never  heard  one  of 
them  swear,  or  exhibit  the  least  impatience 
at  such  a  vexation,  working  by  the  hour. 
Nothing  can  move  a  man  who  is  paid  by  the 
hour.  How  sweet  the  flight  of  time  seems 
to  his  calm  mind  ! 


MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


TWELFTH  WEEK. 

MR.  HORACE  GREELEY,  the  introduction 
of  whose  name  confers  an  honor  upon  this 
page  (although  I  ought  to  say  that  it  is  used 
entirely  without  his  consent),  is  my  sole  au- 
thority in  agriculture.  In  politics,  I  do  not 
dare  to  follow  him ;  but  in  agriculture  he  is 
irresistible.  When,  therefore,  I  find  him 
advising  Western  farmers  not  to  hill  up  their 
corn,  I  think  that  his  advice  must  be  politi- 
cal. You  must  hill  up  your  corn.  People 
always  have  hilled  up  their  corn.  It  would 
take  a  constitutional  amendment  to  change 
the  practice  that  has  pertained  ever  since 
maize  was  raised.  "  It  will  stand  the  drought 
better,"  says  Mr.  Greeley,  "  if  the  ground  is 
left  level."  I  have  corn  in  my  garden,  ten 
and  twelve  feet  high,  strong  and  lusty,  stand- 
ing  the  drought  like  a  grenadier ;  and  it  is 
hilled.  In  advising  this  radical  change,  Mr, 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      99 

Gi'eeley  evidently  has  a  political  purpose. 
He  might  just  as  well  say  that  you  should 
not  hill  beans,  when  everybody  knows  that  a 
"  hill  of  beans  "  is  one  of  the  most  expres- 
sive symbols  of  disparagement.  When  I 
become  too  lazy  to  hill  my  corn,  I  too  shall 
go  into  politics. 

I  am  satisfied  that  it  is  useless  to  try  to 
cultivate  "  pusley."  I  set  a  little  of  it  one 
side,  and  gave  it  some  extra  care.  It  did 
not  thrive  as  well  as  that  which  I  was  fight- 
ing. The  fact  is,  there  is  a  spirit  of  moral 
perversity  in  the  plant,  which  makes  it  grow 
the  more,  the  more  it  is  interfered  with.  I 
am  satisfied  of  that.  I  doubt  if  any  one  has 
raised  more  "  pusley  "  this  year  than  I  have ; 
and  my  warfare  with  it  has  been  continual. 
Neither  of  us  has  slept  much.  If  you  com- 
bat it,  it  will  grow,  to  use  an  expression  that 
will  be  understood  by  many,  like  the  devil. 
1  have  a  neighbor,  a  good  Christian  man, 
benevolent,  and  a  person  of  good  judgment. 
He  planted  next  to  me  an  acre  of  turnips 
recently.  A  few  days  after  he  went  to  look 


100  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

at  his  crop  ;  and  he  found  the  entire  ground 
covered  with  a  thick  and  luxurious  carpet  of 
"  pusley,"  with  a  turnip-top  worked  in  here 
and  there  as  an  ornament.  I  have  seldom 
seen  so  thrifty  a  field.  I  advised  my  neigh- 
bor next  time  to  sow  "  pusley ; "  and  then 
he  might  get  a  few  turnips.  I  wish  there 
was  more  demand  in  our  city  markets  for 
"  pusley  "  as  a  salad.  I  can  recommend  it. 

It  does  not  take  a  great  man  to  soon  dis- 
cover that,  in  raising  anything,  the  greater 
part  of  the  plants  goes  into  stalk  and  leaf, 
and  the  fruit  is  a  most  inconsiderable  por- 
tion. I  plant  and  hoe  a  hill  of  corn :  it 
grows  green  and  stout,  and  waves  its  broad 
leaves  high  in  the  air,  and  is  months  in  per- 
fecting itself,  and  then  yields  us  not  enough 
for  a  dinner.  It  grows  because  it  delights 
to  do  so,  —  to  take  the  juices  out  of  my 
ground,  to  absorb  my  fertilizers,  to  wax  lux- 
uriant, and  disport  itself  in  the  summer  air, 
and  with  very  little  thought  of  making  any 
return  to  me.  I  might  go  all  through  my 
garden  and  fruit-trees  with  a  similar  result 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    101 

I  have  heard  of  places  where  there  was  very 
little  land  to  the  acre.  It  is  universally  true 
that  there  is  a  great  deal  of  vegetable  show 
and  fuss  for  the  result  produced.  I  do  not 
..complain  of  this.  One  cannot  expect  vege- 
tables to  be  better  than  men :  and  they  make 
a  great  deal  of  ostentatious  splurge,  and 
many  of  them  come  to  no  result  at  last. 
Usually,  the  more  show  of  leaf  and  wood, 
the  less  fruit.  This  melancholy  reflection  is 
thrown  in  here  in  order  to  make  dog-days 
seem  cheerful  in  comparison. 

One  of  the  minor  pleasures  of  life  is  that 
of  controlling  vegetable  activity  and  aggres- 
sions with  the  pruning-knife.  Vigorous  and 
rapid  growth  is,  however,  a  necessity  to  the 
sport.  To  prune  feeble  plants  and  shrubs  is 
like  acting  the  part  of  dry-nurse  to  a  sickly 
orphan.  You  must  feel  the  blood  of  Nature 
bound  under  your  hand,  and  get  the  thrill  of 
its  life  in  your  nerves.  To  control  and  cul- 
ture a  strong,  thrifty  plant  in  this  way  is 
like  steering  a  ship  under  full  headway,  or 
driving  a  locomotive  with  your  hand  on  the 


102  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

lever,  or  pulling  the  reins  over  a  fast  horse 
when  his  blood  and  tail  are  up.  I  do  not 
understand,  by  the  way,  the  pleasure  of  the 
jockey  in  setting  up  the  tail  of  the  horse  ar- 
tificially. If  I  had  a  horse  with  a  tail  not 
able  to  sit  up,  I  should  feed  the  horse,  and 
curry  him  into  good  spirits,  and  let  him  set 
up  his  own  tail.  When  I  see  a  poor,  spirit- 
less horse  going  by  with  an  artificially  set-up 
tail,  it  is  only  a  signal  of  distress.  I  desire 
to  be  surrounded  only  by  healthy,  vigorous 
plants  and  trees,  which  require  constant  cut- 
ting-in  and  management.  Merely  to  cut 
away  dead  branches  is  like  perpetual  attend- 
ance at  a  funeral,  and  puts  one  in  low  spir- 
its. I  want  to  have  a  garden  and  orchard 
rise  up  and  meet  me  every  morning,  with 
the  request  to  "  lay  on,  Macduff."  I  respect 
old  age  ;  but  an  old  currant-bush,  hoary  with 
mossy  bark,  is  a  melancholy  spectacle. 

I  suppose  the  time  has  come  when  I  am 
expected  to  say  something  about  fertilizers : 
all  agriculturists  do.  When  you  plant,  you 
think. you  cannot  fertilize  too  much:  when 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    103 

you  get  the  bills  for  the  manure  you  think 
you  cannot  fertilize  too  little.  Of  course 
you  do  not  expect  to  get  the  value  of  the 
manure  back  in  fruits  and  vegetables ;  but 
something  is  due  to  science,  —  to  chemistry 
in  particular.  You  must  have  a  knowledge 
of  soils ;  must  have  your  soil  analyzed,  and 
then  go  into  a  course  of  experiments  to  find 
what  it  needs.  It  needs  analyzing,  —  that 
I  am  clear  about:  everything  needs  that. 
You  had  better  have  the  soil  analyzed  before 
you  buy :  if  there  is  "  pusley "  in  it,  let  it 
alone.  See  if  it  is  a  soil  that  requires  much 
hoeing,  and  how  fine  it  will  get  if  there  is  no 
rain  for  two  months.  But  when  you  come 
to  fertilizing,  if  I  understand  the  agricultural 
authorities,  you  open  a  pit  that  will  ulti- 
mately swallow  you  up,  —  farm  and  all.  It 
is  the  great  subject  of  modern  times,  how  to 
fertilize  without  ruinous  expense ;  how,  in 
short,  not  to  starve  the  earth  to  death  while 
we  get  our  living  out  of  it.  Practically,  the 
business  is  hardly  to  the  taste  of  a  person  of 
a  poetic  turn  of  mind.  The  details  of  fer« 


104  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

tilizing  are  not  agreeable.  Michael  Angelo, 
who  tried  every  art  and  nearly  every  trade, 
never  gave  his  mind  to  fertilizing.  It  is 
much  pleasanter  and  easier  to  fertilize  with 
a  pen,  as  the  agricultural  writers  do,  than 
with  a  fork.  And  this  leads  me  to  say  that, 
in  carrying  on  a  garden  yourself,  you  must 
have  a  "consulting"  gardener;  that  is,  a 
man  to  do  the  heavy  and  unpleasant  work. 
To  such  a  man,  I  say,  in  language  used  by 
Demosthenes  to  the  Athenians,  and  which  is 
my  advice  to  all  gardeners,  "  Fertilize,  ferti- 
lize, fertilize  I " 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    105 


THIRTEENTH  WEEK. 

I  FIND  that  gardening  has  unsurpassed 
advantages  for  the  study  of  natural  history ; 
and  some  scientific  facts  have  come  un- 
der my  own  observation,  which  cannot  fail 
to  interest  naturalists  and  un-naturalists  in 
about  the  same  degree.  Much,  for  instance, 
has  been  written  about  the  toad,  an  animal 
without  which  no  garden  would  be  complete. 
But  little  account  has  been  made  of  his  value : 
the  beauty  of  his  eye  alone  has  been  dwelt 
on ;  and  little  has  been  said  of  his  mouth, 
and  its  important  function  as  a  fly  and  bug 
trap.  His  habits,  and  even  his  origin,  have 
been  misunderstood.  Why,  as  an  illustra- 
tion, are  toads  so  plenty  after  a  thunder- 
shower  ?  All  my  life  long,  no  one  has  been 
able  to  answer  me  that  question.  Why, 
after  a  heavy  shower,  and  in  the  midst  of  it, 
do  such  multitudes  of  toads,  especially  little 


106  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

ones,  hop  about  on  the  gravel  walks  ?  For 
many  years,  I  believed  that  they  rained 
down  ;  and  I  suppose  many  people  think  so 
still.  They  are  so  small,  and  they  come  in 
such  numbers  only  in  the  shower,  that  the 
supposition  is  not  a  violent  one.  "  Thick  as 
toads  after  a  shower "  is  one  of  our  best 
proverbs.  I  asked  an  explanation  of  this  of 
a  thoughtful  woman,  —  indeed,  a  leader  in 
the  great  movement  to  have  all  the  toads  hop 
in  any  direction,  without  any  distinction  of 
sex  or  religion.  Her  reply  was  that  the 
toads  came  out  during  the  shower  to  get 
water.  This,  however,  is  not  the  fact.  I 
have  discovered  that  they  come  out  not  to 
get  water.  I  deluged  a  dry  flower-bed,  the 
other  night,  with  pailful  after  pailful  of 
water.  Instantly  the  toads  came  out  of  their 
holes  in  the  dirt,  by  tens  and  twenties  and 
fifties,  to  escape  death  by  drowning.  The 
big  ones  fled  away  in  a  ridiculous  streak  of 
hopping ;  and  the  little  ones  sprang  about 
in  the  wildest  confusion.  The  toad  is  just 
like  any  other  land  animal :  when  his  house 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    107 

is  full  of  water,  he  quits  it.  These  facts, 
with  the  drawings  of  the  water  and  the 
toads,  are  at  the  service  of  the  distinguished 
scientists  of  Albany  in  New  York,  who  were 
so  much  impressed  by  the  Cardiff  Giant. 

The  domestic  cow  is  another  animal  whose 
ways  I  have  a  chance  to  study,  and  also  to 
obliterate  in  the  garden.  One  of  my  neigh- 
bors has  a  cow,  but  no  land ;  and  he  seems 
desirous  to  pasture  her  on  the  surface  of  the 
land  of  other  people,  —  a  very  reasonable  de- 
sire. The  man  proposed  that  he  should  be 
allowed  to  cut  the  grass  from  my  grounds 
for  his  cow.  I  knew  the  cow,  having  often 
had  her  in  my  garden ;  knew  her  gait  and 
the  size  of  her  feet,  which  struck  me  as  a 
little  large  for  the  size  of  the  body.  Having 
no  cow  myself,  but  acquaintance  with  mv 
neighbor's,  I  told  him  that  I  thought  it  woidd 
be  fair  for  him  to  have  the  grass.  He  was, 
therefore,  to  keep  the  grass  nicely  cut,  and 
to  keep  his  cow  at  home.  I  waited  some 
time  after  the  grass  needed  cutting  ;  and,  as 
my  neighbor  did  not  appear,  I  hired  it  cut. 


108  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

No  sooner  was  it  done  than  he  promptly  ap- 
peared, and  raked  up  most  of  it,  and  carried 
it  away.  He  had  evidently  been  waiting 
that  opportunity.  When  the  grass  grew 
again,  the  neighbor  did  not  appear  with 
his  scythe ;  but  one  morning  I  found  the 
cow  tethered  on  the  sward,  hitched  near 
the  clothes-horse,  a  short  distance  from  the 
house.  This  seemed  to  be  the  man's  idea  of 
the  best  way  to  cut  the  grass.  I  disliked  to 
have  the  cow  there,  because  I  knew  her  in- 
clination to  pull  up  the  stake,  and  transfer 
her  field  of  mowing  to  the  garden,  but  es- 
pecially because  of  her  voice.  She  has  the 
most  melancholy  "moo"  I  ever  heard.  It 
is  like  the  wail  of  one  un-infallible,  excom- 
municated, and  lost.  It  is  a  most  distress- 
ing perpetual  reminder  of  the  brevity  of 
life  and  the  shortness  of  feed.  It  is  un- 
pleasant to  the  family.  We  sometimes  hear 
it  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  breaking  the 
silence  like  a  suggestion  of  coming  calamity. 
It  is  as  bad  as  the  howling  of  a  dog  at  a 
funeral. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     109 

I  told  the  man  about  it ;  but  he  seemed 
to  think  that  he  was  not  responsible  for  the 
cow's  voice.  I  then  told  him  to  take  her 
away ;  and  he  did,  at  intervals,  shifting  her 
to  different  parts  of  the  grounds  in  my  ab- 
sence, so  that  the  desolate  voice  would  star- 
tle us  from  unexpected  quarters.  If  I  were 
to  unhitch  the  cow,  and  turn  her  loose,  I 
knew  where  she  would  go.  If  I  were  to  lead 
her  away,  the  question  was,  Where?  for  I 
did  not  fancy  leading  a  cow  about  till  I 
could  find  somebody  who  was  willing  to  pas- 
ture her.  To  this  dilemma  had  my  excel- 
lent neighbor  reduced  me.  But  I  found  him, 
one  Sunday  morning,  —  a  day  when  it  would 
not  do  to  get  angry,  —  tying  his  cow  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill ;  the  beast  all  the  time  going 
on  in  that  abominable  voice.  I  told  the 
man  that  I  could  not  have  the  cow  in  the 
grounds.  He  said,  "  All  right,  boss ;  "  but 
he  did  not  go  away.  I  asked  him  to  clear 
out.  The  man,  who  is  a  French  sympathizer 
from  the  Republic  of  Ireland,  kept  his  tem- 
per perfectly  c  He  said  he  was  n't  doing  any- 


110  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

thing,  —  just  feeding  his  cow  a  bit :  he  would 
n't  make  me  the  least  trouble  in  the  world. 
I  reminded  him  that  he  had  been  told  again 
and  again  not  to  come  here ;  that  he  might 
have  all  the  grass,  but  he  should  not  bring 
his  cow  upon  the  premises.  The  imperturb- 
able man  assented  to  everything  that  I  said, 
and  kept  on  feeding  his  cow.  Before  I  got 
him  to  go  to  fresh  scenes  and  pastures  new, 
the  Sabbath  was  almost  broken :  but  it  was 
saved  by  one  thing ;  it  is  difficult  to  be  em- 
phatic when  no  one  is  emphatic  on  the  other 
side.  The  man  and  his  cow  have  taught  me 
a  great  lesson,  which  I  shall  recall  when  1 
keep  a  cow.  I  can  recommend  the  cow,  if 
anybody  wants  one,  as  a  steady  boarder, 
whose  keeping  will  cost  the  owner  little ;  but 
if  her  milk  is  at  all  like  her  voice,  those  who 
drink  it  are  on  the  straight  road  to  lunacy. 

I  think  I  have  said  that  we  have  a  game- 
preserve.  We  keep  quails,  or  try  to,  in  the 
thickly  wooded,  bushed,  and  brushed  ravine. 
This  bird  is  a  great  favorite  with  us,  dead  or 
alive,  on  account  of  its  tasteful  plumage,  its 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    Ill 

tender  flesh,  its  domestic  virtues,  and  its 
pleasant  piping.  Besides,  although  I  appre- 
ciate toads  and  cows,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  I  like  to  have  a  game-preserve  more 
in  the  English  style.  And  we  did.  For  in 
July,  while  the  game-law  was  on,  and  the 
young  quails  were  coming  on,  we  were 
awakened  one  morning  by  firing,  —  mus- 
ketry-firing, close  at  hand.  My  first  thought 
was  that  war  was  declared  ;  but,  as  I  should 
never  pay  much  attention  to  war  declared  at 
that  time  in  the  morning,  I  went  to  sleep 
again.  But  the  occurrence  was  repeated, 
and  not  only  early  in  the  morning,  but  at 
night.  There  was  calling  of  dogs,  breaking 
down  of  brush,  and  firing  of  guns.  It  is 
hardly  pleasant  to  have  guns  fired  in  the 
direction  of  the  house,  at  your  own  quails. 
The  hunters  could  be  sometimes  seen,  but 
never  caught.  Their  best  tune  was  about 
sunrise ;  before  one  could  dress  and  get  to 
the  front,  they  would  retire. 

One  morning,  about  four  o'clock,  I  heard 
the  battle  renewed.     I  sprang  up,  but  not  in 


112  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

arms,  and  went  to  a  window.  Polly  (like 
another  "  blessed  damozel  ")  flew  to  another 
window,  — 

"  The  blessed  damozel  leaned  out 
From  the  gold  bar  of  heaven,"  — 

and  reconnoitred -from  behind  the  blinds. 

"  The  wonder  was  not  yet  quite  gone 
From  that  still  look  of  hers," 

when  an  armed  man  and  a  legged  dog  ap- 
peared in  the  opening.  I  was  vigilantly 
watching  him. 

"  And  now 
She  spoke  through  the  still  weather." 

"  Are   you    afraid    to   speak   to    him  ? " 
asked  Polly.     Not  exactly, 

" she  spoke  as  when 
The  stars  sang  in  their  spheres." 

Stung  by  this  inquiry,  I  leaned  out  of  the 
window  till 

"  The  bar  7  leaned  on  (was)  warm," 

and  cried,  — 

"  Halloo,  there !     What  are  you  doing  ?  " 
"  Look  out  he  don't  shoot  you,"  called  out 

Polly  from  the  other  window,  suddenly  going 

on  another  tack. 

I  explained  that  a  sportsman  would  not  be 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    US 

likely  to  shoot  a  gentleman  in  his  own  house, 
with  bird-shot,  so  long  as  quails  were  to  be 
had. 

"  You  have  no  business  here :  what  are 
you  after  ?  "  I  repeated. 

"  Looking  for  a  lost  hen,"  said  the  man 
as  he  strode  away. 

The  reply  was  so  satisfactory  and  conclu- 
sive that  I  shut  the  blinds  and  went  to  bed. 

But  one  evening  I  overhauled  one  of  the 
poachers.  Hearing  his  dog  in  the  thicket,  I 
rushed  through  the  brush,  and  came  in  sight 
of  the  hunter  as  he  was  retreating  down  the 
road.  He  came  to  a  halt,  and  we  had  some 
conversation  in  a  high  key.  Of  course  I 
threatened  to  prosecute  him.  I  believe  that 
is  the  thing  to  do  in  such  cases  ;  but  how  I 
was  to  do  it,  when  I  did  not  know  his  name 
or  ancestry,  and  could  n't  see  his  face,  never 
occurred  to  me.  (I  remember,  now,  that  a 
farmer  once  proposed  to  prosecute  me  when 
I  was  fishing  in  a  trout-brook  on  his  farm, 
and  asked  my  name  for  that  purpose.)  He 
said  he  should  smile  to  see  me  prosecute  him. 


114  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

"  You  can't  do  it :  there  ain't  no  notice  up 
about  trespassing."  This  view  of  the  com- 
mon law  impressed  me ;  and  I  said,  — 

"  But  these  are  private  grounds." 

"  Private  h — !  "  was  all  his  response. 

You  can't  argue  much  with  a  man  who 
has  a  gun  in  his  hands,  when  you  have  none. 
Besides,  it  might  be  a  needle-gun,  for  aught 
I  knew.  I  gave  it  up,  and  we  separated. 

There  is  this  disadvantage  about  having  a 
game-preserve  attached  to  your  garden :  it 
makes  life  too  lively. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    115 


FOURTEENTH  WEEK. 

IN  these  golden  latter  August  days,  Na- 
ture has  come  to  a  serene  equilibrium.  Hav- 
ing flowered  and  fruited,  she  is  enjoying 
herself.  I  can  see  how  things  are  going :  it 
is  a  down-hill  business  after  this ;  but,  for 
the  time  being,  it  is  like  swinging  in  a  ham- 
mock, —  such  a  delicious  air,  such  a  grace- 
ful repose !  I  take  off  my  hat  as  I  stroll 
into  the  garden  and  look  about ;  and  it  does 
seem  as  if  Nature  had  sounded  a  truce.  I 
did  n't  ask  for  it.  I  went  out  with  a  hoe ; 
but  the  serene  sweetness  disarms  me.  Thrice 
is  he  armed  who  has  a  long-handled  hoe, 
with  a  double  blade.  Yet  to-day  I  am  al- 
most ashamed  to  appear  in  such  a  belligerent 
fashion,  with  this  terrible  mitrailleuse  of 
gardening. 

The  tomatoes  are  getting  tired  of  ripen- 
ing, and  are  beginning  to  go  into  a  worth- 


116  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

less  condition,  —  green.  The  cucumbers 
cumber  the  ground,  —  great,  yellow,  over- 
ripe objects,  no  more  to  be  compared  to  the 
crisp  beauty  of  their  youth  than  is  the  fat 
swine  of  the  sty  to  the  clean  little  pig.  The 
nutmeg-melons,  having  covered  themselves 
with  a  delicate  lace-work,  are  now  ready  to 
leave  the  vine.  I  know  they  are  ripe  if  they 
come  easily  off  the  stem. 

Moral  Observations.  —  You  can  tell  when 
people  are  ripe  by  their  willingness  to  let  go. 
Richness  and  ripeness  are  not  exactly  the 
same.  The  rich  are  apt  to  hang  to  the  stem 
with  tenacity.  I  have  nothing  against  the 
rich.  If  I  were  not  virtuous,  I  should  like 
to  be  rich.  But  we  cannot  have  everything, 
as  the  man  said  when  he  was  down  with 
small-pox  and  cholera,  and  the  yellow-fever 
came  into  the  neighborhood. 

Now,  the  grapes,  soaked  in  this  liquid 
gold,  called  air,  begin  to  turn,  mindful  of 
the  injunction  "  to  turn  or  burn."  The 
clusters  under  the  leaves  are  getting  quite 
purple,  but  look  better  than  they  taste.  I 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    117 

think  there  is  no  danger  but  they  will  be 
gathered  as  soon  as  they  are  ripe.  One  of 
the  blessings  of  having  an  open  garden  is 
that  I  do  not  have  to  watch  my  fruit:  a 
dozen  youngsters  do  that,  and  let  it  waste  no 
time  after  it  matures.  I  wish  it  were  possi- 
ble to  grow  a  variety  of  grape  like  the  ex- 
plosive bullets,  that  should  explode  in  the 
stomach :  the  vine  would  make  such  a  nice 
border  for  the  garden,  —  a  masked  battery 
of  grape.  The  pears,  too,  are  getting  russet 
and  heavy ;  and  here  and  there  amid  the 
shining  leaves  one  gleams  as  ruddy  as  the 
cheek  of  the  Nutbrown  Maid.  The  Flemish 
Beauties  come  off  readily  from  the  stem,  if 
I  take  them  in  my  hand :  they  say  all  kinds 
of  beauty  come  off  by  handling. 

The  garden  is  peace  as  much  as  if  it  were 
an  empire.  Even  the  man's  cow  lies  down 
under  the  tree  where  the  man  has  tied  her, 
with  such  an  air  of  contentment  that  I  have 
small  desire  to  disturb  her.  She  is  chewing 
my  cud  as  if  it  were  hers.  Well,  eat  on  and 
chew  on,  melancholy  brute.  I  have  not  the 


118  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

heart  to  tell  the  man  to  take  you  away :  and 
it  would  do  no  good  if  I  had  ;  he  would  n't 
do  it.  The  man  has  not  a  taking  way. 
Munch  on,  ruminant  creature.  The  frost 
will  soon  come ;  the  grass  will  be  brown.  I 
will  be  charitable  while  this  blessed  lull  con- 
tinues :  for  our  benevolences  must  soon  be 
turned  to  other  and  more  distant  objects,  — 
the  amelioration  of  the  condition  of  the 
Jews,  the  education  of  theological  young  men 
in  the  West,  and  the  like. 

I  do  not  know  that  these  appearances  are 
deceitful ;  but  I  sufficiently  know  that  this  is 
a  wicked  world  to  be  glad  that  I  have  taken 
it  on  shares.  In  fact,  I  could  not  pick  the 
pears  alone,  not  to  speak  of  eating  them. 
When  I  climb  the  trees,  and  throw  down  the 
dusky  fruit,  Polly  catches  it  in  her  apron ; 
nearly  always,  however,  letting  go  when  it 
drops,  the  fall  is  so  sudden.  The  sun  gets 
in  her  face ;  and,  every  time  a  pear  comes 
down,  it  is  a  surprise,  like  having  a  tooth 
out,  she  says. 

"  If  I  could  n't  hold  an  apron  better  than 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.      119 

that  "  —  But  the  sentence  is  not  finished : 
it  is  useless  to  finish  that  sort  of  a  sentence 
in  this  delicious  weather.  Besides,  conver- 
sation is  dangerous.  As,  for  instance,  to- 
wards evening  I  am  preparing  a  bed  for  a 
sowing  of  turnips ;  not  that  I  like  turnips 
in  the  least,  but  this  is  the  season  to  sow 
them.  Polly  comes  out,  and  extemporizes 
her  usual  seat  to  "  consult "  me  about  mat- 
ters while  I  work.  I  well  know  that  some- 
thing is  coming. 

"  This  is  a  rotation  of  crops,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes :  I  have  rotated  the  gone-to-seed 
lettuce  off,  and  expect  to  rotate  the  turnips 
in  ;  it  is  a  political'fashion." 

"  Is  n't  it  a  shame  that  the  tomatoes  are 
all  getting  ripe  at  once?  What  a  lot  of 
squashes!  I  wish  we  had  an  oyster-bed. 
Do  you  want  me  to  help  you  any  more  than 
I  am  helping  ?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you."  (I  wonder  what  all 
this  is  about?) 

"  Don't  you  think  we  could  sell  some 
strawberries  next  year  ?  " 


120  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

"  By  all  means,  sell  anything.  We  shall 
no  doubt  get  rich  out  of  this  acre." 

"  Don't  be  foolish." 

And  now ! 

"  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  nice  to  have 
a "  —  And  Polly  unfolds  a  small  scheme 
of  benevolence,  which  is  not  quite  enough 
to  break  me,  and  is  really  to  be  executed  in 
an  economical  manner.  "Wouldn't  that 
be  nice?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  And  where  is  the  money  to 
come  from  ?  " 

"I  thought  we  had  agreed  to  sell  the 
strawberries." 

"  Certainly.  But  I  think  we  would  make 
more  money  if  we  sold  the  plants  now." 

"  Well,"  said  Polly,  concluding  the  whole 
matter,  "  I  am  going  to  do  it."  And,  hav- 
ing thus  "  consulted  "  me,  Polly  goes  away  ; 
and  I  put  in  the  turnip-seeds  quite  thick,  de- 
termined to  raise  enough  to  sell.  But  not 
even  this  mercenary  thought  can  ruffle  my 
mind  as  I  rake  off  the  loamy  bed.  I  no. 
tice,  however,  that  the  spring  smell  has  gone 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    121 

out  of   the  dirt.     That  went  into  the  first 
crop. 

In  this  peaceful  unison  with  yielding  Na- 
ture, I  was  a  little  taken  aback  to  find  that 
a  new  enemy  had  turned  up.  The  celery 
had  just  rubbed  through  the  fiery  scorching 
of  the  drought,  and  stood  a  faint  chance  to 
grow,  when  I  noticed  on  the  green  leaves  a 
big  green-and-black  worm,  called,  I  believe, 
the  celery-worm :  but  I  don't  know  who 
called  him  ;  I  am  sure  I  did  not.  It  was  al- 
most ludicrous  that  he  should  turn  up  here, 
just  at  the  end  of  the  season,  when  I  sup- 
posed that  my  war  with  the  living  animals 
was  over.  Yet  he  was,  no  doubt,  predesti- 
nated ;  for  he  went  to  work  as  cheerfully  as  if 
he  had  arrived  in  June,  when  everything  was 
fresh  and  vigorous.  It  beats  me,  —  Nature 
does.  I  doubt  not  that,  if  I  were  to  leave 
my  garden  now  for  a  week,  it  would  n't  know 
me  on  my  return.  The  patch  I  scratched  over 
for  the  turnips,  and  left  as  clean  as  earth,  is 
already  full  of  ambitious  "pusley,"  which 
grows  with  all  the  confidence  of  youth  and 


122          MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

the  skill  of  old  age.  It  beats  the  serpent 
as  an  emblem  of  immortality.  While  all 
the  others  of  us  in  the  garden  rest  and  sit 
in  comfort  a  moment,  upon  the  summit  of 
the  summer,  it  is  as  rampant  and  vicious  as 
ever.  It  accepts  no  armistice. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    123 


FIFTEENTH  WEEK. 

IT  is  said  that  absence  conquers  all  things, 
love  included  ;  but  it  has  a  contrary  effect 
on  a  garden.  I  was  absent  for  two  or  three 
weeks.  I  left  my  garden  a  paradise,  as  par- 
adises go  in  this  protoplastic  world;  and 
when  I  returned  the  trail  of  the  serpent  was 
over  it  all,  so  to  speak.  (This  is  in  addition 
to  the  actual  snakes  in  it,  which  are  large 
enough  to  strangle  children  of  average  size.) 
I  asked  Polly  if  she  had  seen  to  the  garden 
while  I  was  away,  and  she  said  she  had.  I 
found  that  all  the  melons  had  been  seen  to, 
and  the  early  grapes  and  pears.  The  green 
worm  had  also  seen  to  about  half  the  cel- 
ery ;  and  a  large  flock  of  apparently  per- 
fectly domesticated  chickens  were  roaming 
over  the  ground,  gossiping  in  the  hot  Sep- 
tember sun  and  picking  up  any  odd  trifle 
that  might  be  left.  On  the  whole,  the  gar- 


124  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

den  could  not  have  been  better  seen  to; 
though  it  would  take  a  sharp  eye  to  see  the 
potato-vines  amid  the  rampant  grass  and 
weeds. 

The  new  strawberry-plants,  for  one  thing, 
had  taken  advantage  of  my  absence. 
Every  one  of  them  had  sent  out  as  many 
scarlet  runners  as  an  Indian  tribe  has. 
Some  of  them  had  blossomed;  and  a  few 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  bear  ripe  berries,  — 
long,  pear-shaped  fruit,  hanging  like  the 
ear-pendants  of  an  East  Indian  bride.  I 
could  not  but  admire  the  persistence  of  these 
zealous  plants,  which  seemed  determined  to 
propagate  themselves  both  by  seeds  and 
roots,  and  make  sure  of  immortality  in  some 
way.  Even  the  Colfax  variety  was  as  am- 
bitious as  the  others.  After  having  seen 
the  declining  letter  of  Mr.  Colfax,  I  did 
not  suppose  that  this  vine  would  run  any 
more,  and  intended  to  root  it  out.  But  one 
can  never  say  what  these  politicians  mean  ; 
and  I  shall  let  this  variety  grow  until  after 
the  next  election,  at  least ;  although  I  hear 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     125 

that  the  fruit  is  small,  and  rather  sour. 
If  there  is  any  variety  of  strawberries  that 
really  declines  to  run,  and  devotes  itself  to 
a  private  life  of  fruit-bearing,  I  should  like 
to  get  it.  I  may  mention  here,  since  we 
are  on  politics,  that  the  Doolittle  raspberries 
had  sprawled  all  over  the  strawberry-beds : 
so  true  is  it  that  politics  makes  strange  bed- 
fellows. 

But  another  enemy  had  come  into  the 
strawberries,  which,  after  all  that  has  been 
said  in  these  papers,  I  am  almost  ashamed 
to  mention.  But  does  the  preacher  in  the 
pulpit,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  year  after 
year,  shrink  from  speaking  of  sin  ?  I  refer, 
of  course,  to  the  greatest  enemy  of  mankind, 
"  p-sl-y."  The  ground  was  carpeted  with  it. 
I  should  think  that  this  was  the  tenth  crop  of 
the  season ;  and  it  was  as  good  as  the  first. 
I  see  no  reason  why  our  northern  soil  is  not 
as  prolific  as  that  of  the  tropics,  and  will  not 
produce  as  many  crops  in  the  year.  The 
mistake  we  make  is  in  trying  to  force  things 
that  are  not  natural  to  it.  I  have  no  doubt 


126  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

that,  if  we  turn  our  attention  to  "  pusley," 
we  can  beat  the  world. 

I  had  no  idea,  until  recently,  how  gener- 
ally this  simple  and  thrifty  plant  is  feared 
and  hated.  Far  beyond  what  I  had  regarded 
as  the  bounds  of  civilization,  it  is  held  as 
one  of  the  mysteries  of  a  fallen  world ;  ac- 
companying the  home  missionary  on  his  wan- 
derings, and  preceding  the  footsteps  of  the 
Tract  Society.  I  was  not  long  ago  in  the 
Adirondacks.  We  had  built  a  camp  for  the 
night,  in  the  heart  of  the  woods,  high  up  on 
John's  Brook  and  near  the  foot  of  Mount 
Marcy.  I  can  see  the  lovely  spot  now.  It 
was  on  the  bank  of  the  crystal,  rocky  stream, 
at  the  foot  of  high  and  slender  falls,  which 
poured  into  a  broad  amber  basin.  Out  of 
this  basin  we  had  just  taken  trout  enough 
for  our  supper,  which  had  been  killed  and 
roasted  over  the  fire  on  sharp  sticks,  and 
eaten  before  they  had  an  opportunity  to  feel 
the  chill  of  this  deceitful  world.  We  were 
lying  under  the  hut  of  spruce-bark,  on  fra- 
grant hemlock-boughs,  talking,  after  supper. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    127 

In  front  of  us  was  a  huge  fire  of  birch-logs  ; 
and  over  it  we  could  see  the  top  of  the  falls 
glistening  in  the  moonlight ;  and  the  roar  of 
the  falls  and  the  brawling  of  the  stream  near 
us  filled  all  the  ancient  woods.  It  was  a 
scene  upon  which  one  would  think  no  thought 
of  sin  could  enter.  We  were  talking  with 
old  Phelps,  the  guide.  Old  Phelps  is  at 
once  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend.  He 
knows  the  woods  and  streams  and  mountains, 
and  their  savage  inhabitants,  as  well  as  we 
know  all  our  rich  relations,  and  what  they 
are  doing  ;  and  in  lonely  bear-hunts  and  sa- 
ble-trappings he  has  thought  out  and  solved 
most  of  the  problems  of  life.  As  he  stands 
in  his  wood-gear,  he  is  as  grizzly  as  an  old 
cedar-tree  ;  and  he  speaks  in  a  high  falsetto 
voice,  which  would  be  invaluable  to  a  boat- 
swain in  a  storm  at  sea. 

We  had  been  talking  of  all  subjects  about 
which  rational  men  are  interested,  —  bears, 
panthers,  trapping,  the  habits  of  trout,  the 
tariff,  the  internal  revenue  (to  wit,  the  injus- 
tice of  laying  such  a  tax  on  tobacco,  and 


128  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

none  on  dogs :  "  There  ain't  no  dog  in  the 
C/hited  States,"  says  the  guide,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice,  "  that  earns  his  living"),  the  Ad- 
ventists,  the  Gorner  Grat,  Horace  Greeley, 
religion,  the  propagation  of  seeds  in  the  wil- 
derness (as,  for  instance,  where  were  the 
seeds  lying  for  ages  that  spring  up  into  cer- 
tain plants  and  flowers  as  soon  as  a  spot  is 
cleared  anywhere  in  the  most  remote  forest ; 
and  why  does  a  growth  of  oak-trees  always 
come  up  after  a  growth  of  pine  has  been  re- 
moved?),—  in  short,  we  had  pretty  nearly 
reached  a  solution  of  many  mysteries,  when 
Phelps  suddenly  exclaimed  with  uncommon 
energy,  — 

"  Wall,  there  's  one  thing  that  beats 
me!" 

"  What 's  that  ?  "  we  asked,  with  undis- 
guised curiosity. 

"That's  'pusley'!"  he  replied,  in  the 
tone  of  a  man  who  has  come  to  one  door  in 
life  which  is  hopelessly  shut,  and  from  which 
he  retires  in  despair.  "  Where  it  comes  from 
I  don't  know,  nor  what  to  do  with  it.  It 's 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.   129 

in  my  garden,  and  I  can't  get  rid  of  it.  It 
beats  me." 

About  "  pusley  "  the  guide  had  no  theory 
and  no  hope.  A  feeling  of  awe  came  over 
me,  as  we  lay  there  at  midnight,  hushed  by 
the  sound  of  the  stream  and  the  rising  wind 
in  the  spruce-tops.  Then  man  can  go  no- 
where that  "  pusley  "  will  not  attend  him. 
Though  he  camp  on  the  Upper  Au  Sable,  or 
penetrate  the  forest  where  rolls  the  Allegash, 
and  hears  no  sound  save  his  own  allegations, 
he  will  not  escape  it.  It  has  entered  the 
happy  valley  of  Keene,  although  there  is  yet 
no  church  there,  and  only  a  feeble  school 
part  of  the  year.  Sin  travels  faster  than 
they  that  ride  in  chariots.  I  take  my  hoe, 
and  begin ;  but  I  feel  that  I  am  warring 
against  something  whose  roots  take  hold 
onH. 

By  the  time  a  man  gets  to  be  eighty  he 
learns  that  he  is  compassed  by  limitations, 
and  that  there  has  been  a  natural  boundary 
set  to  his  individual  powers.  As  he  goes  on 
in  life,  he  begins  to  doubt  his  ability  to  de- 


130  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

stroy  all  evil  and  to  reform  all  abuses,  and 
to  suspect  that  there  will  be  much  left  to  do 
after  he  has  done.  I  stepped  into  my  gar- 
den in  the  spring,  not  doubting  that  I  should 
be  easily  master  of  the  weeds.  I  have  simply 
learned  that  an  institution  which  is  at  least 
six  thousand  years  old,  and  I  believe  six 
millions,  is  not  to  be  put  down  in  one  season. 
I  have  been  digging  my  potatoes,  if  any- 
body cares  to  know  it.  I  planted  them  in 
what  are  called  "  Early  Rose,"  —  the  rows 
a  little  less  than  three  feet  apart ;  but  the 
vines  came  to  an  early  close  in  the  drought. 
Digging  potatoes  is  a  pleasant,  soothing  oc- 
cupation, but  not  poetical.  It  is  good  for 
the  mind,  unless  they  are  too  small  (as  many 
of  mine  are),  when  it  begets  a  want  of  grat- 
itude to  the  bountiful  earth.  What  small 
potatoes  we  all  are,  compared  with  what  we 
might  be  !  We  don't  plough  deep  enough, 
any  of  us,  for  one  thing.  I  shall  put  in  the 
plough  next  year,  and  give  the  tubers  room 
enough.  I  think  they  felt  the  lack  of  it 
this  year :  many  of  them  seemed  ashamed  to 


WHAT  1  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    131 

come  out  so  small.  There  is  great  pleasure 
in  turning  out  the  brown-jacketed  fellows 
into  the  sunshine  of  a  royal  September  day, 
and  seeing  them  glisten  as  they  lie  thickly 
strewn  on  the  warm  soil.  Life  has  few  such 
moments.  But  then  they  must  be  picked 
up.  The  picking-up,  in  this  world,  is  always 
the  unpleasant  part  of  it. 


132  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


SIXTEENTH  WEEK. 

I  DO  not  hold  myself  bound  to  answer  the 
question,  Does  gardening  pay?  It  is  so  dif- 
ficult to  define  what  is  meant  by  paying. 
There  is  a  popular  notion  that  unless  a  thing 
pays  you  had  better  let  it  alone ;  and  I  may 
say  that  there  is  a  public  opinion  that  will 
not  let  a  man  or  woman  continue  in  the  in- 
dulgence of  a  fancy  that  does  not  pay.  And 
public  opinion  is  stronger  than  the  legisla- 
ture, and  nearly  as  strong  as  the  ten  com- 
mandments. I  therefore  yield  to  popular 
clamor  when  I  discuss  the  profit  of  my 
garden. 

As  I  look  at  it,  you  might  as  well  ask, 
Does  a  sunset  pay  ?  I  know  that  a  sunset 
is  commonly  looked  on  as  a  cheap  entertain- 
ment ;  but  it  is  really  one  of  the  most  expen- 
sive. It  is  true  that  we  can  all  have  front 
seats,  and  we  do  not  exactly  need  to  dress 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     133 

for  it  as  we  do  for  the  opera ;  but  the  condi- 
tions under  which  it  is  to  be  enjoyed  are 
rather  dear.  Among  them  I  should  name  a 
good  suit  of  clothes,  including  some  trifling 
ornament,  —  not  including  back  hair  for  one 
sex,  or  the  parting  of  it  in  the  middle  for 
the  other.  I  should  add  also  a  good  dinner, 
well  cooked  and  digestible ;  and  the  cost  of 
a  fair  education,  extended,  perhaps,  through 
generations  in  which  sensibility  and  love  of 
beauty  grew.  What  I  mean  is  that  if  a 
man  is  hungry  and  naked,  and  half  a  savage, 
or  with  the  love  of  beauty  undeveloped  in 
him,  a  sunset  is  thrown  away  on  him :  so 
that  it  appears  that  the  conditions  of  the 
enjoyment  of  a  sunset  are  as  costly  as  any- 
thing in  our  civilization. 

Of  course  there  is  no  such  thing  as  abso- 
lute value  in  this  world.  You  can  only  esti- 
mate what  a  thing  is  worth  to  you.  Does 
gardening  in  a  city  pay  ?  You  might  as 
well  ask  if  it  pays  to  keep  hens,  or  a  trot- 
ting-horse,  or  to  wear  a  gold  ring,  or  to  keep 
your  lawn  cut,  or  your  hair  cut.  It  is  as 


134          MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

you  like  it.  In  a  certain  sense,  it  is  a  sort 
of  profanation  to  consider  if  my  garden 
pays,  or  to  set  a  money-value  upon  my  de- 
light in  it.  I  fear  that  you  could  not  put 
it  in  money.  Job  had  the  right  idea  in  his 
mind  when  he  asked,  "  Is  there  any  taste  in 
the  white  of  an  egg?"  Suppose  there  is 
not !  What !  shall  I  set  a  price  upon  the 
tender  asparagus  or  the  crisp  lettuce,  which 
made  the  sweet  spring  a  reality?  Shall  I 
turn  into  merchandise  the  red  strawberry, 
the  pale  green  pea,  the  high-flavored  rasp- 
berry, the  sanguinary  beet,  that  love-plant 
the  tomato,  and  the  corn  which  did  not  waste 
its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air,  but,  after 
flowing  in  a  sweet  rill  through  all  our  sum- 
mer life,  mingled  at  last  with  the  engaging 
bean  in  a  pool  of  succotash  ?  Shall  I  com- 
pute in  figures  what  daily  freshness  and 
health  and  delight  the  garden  yields,  let 
alone  the  large  crop  of  anticipation  I  gath- 
ered as  soon  as  the  first  seeds  got  above 
ground?  I  appeal  to  any  gardening  man 
of  sound  mind,  if  that  which  pays  him  best 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    135 

in  gardening  is  not  that  which  he  cannot 
show  in  his  trial-balance.  Yet  I  yield  to 
public  opinion,  when  I  proceed  to  make  such 
a  balance  ;  and  I  do  it  with  the  utmost  con- 
fidence in  figures. 

I  select  as  a  representative  vegetable,  in 
order  to  estimate  the  cost  of  gardening,  the 
potato.  In  my  statement,  I  shall  not  include 
the  interest  on  the  value  of  the  land.  I 
throw  in  the  land,  because  it  would  other- 
wise have  stood  idle :  the  thing  generally 
raised  on  city  land  is  taxes.  I  therefore 
make  the  following  statement  of  the  cost 
and  income  of  my  potato-crop,  a  part  of  it 
estimated  in  connection  with  other  garden 
labor.  I  have  tried  to  make  it  so  as  to  sat- 
isfy the  income-tax  collector :  — 

Dr. 

Ploughing $0.50 

Seed 1.50 

Manure 8.00 

Assistance  in  planting  and  digging,  3  days    6.75 
Labor  of  self  in  planting,  hoeing,  digging, 

picking  up,  5  days  at  17  cents 85 

Total  cost        817.60 


136  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

Cr. 

Two  thousand  five  hundred  mealy  pota- 
toes, at  2  cents $50.00 

Small  potatoes  given  to  neighbor's  pig  .          .50 

Total  return 50.50 

Balance,  profit  in  cellar 32.90 

Some  of  these  items  need  explanation. 
I  have  charged  nothing  for  my  own  time 
waiting  for  the  potatoes  to  grow.  My  time 
in  hoeing,  fighting  weeds,  etc.,  is  put  in  at 
five  days :  it  may  have  been  a  little  more. 
Nor  have  I  put  in  anything  for  cooling 
drinks  while  hoeing.  I  leave  this  out  from 
principle,  because  I  always  recommend  water 
to  others.  I  had  some  difficulty  in  fixing 
the  rate  of  my  own  wages.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  I  had  an  opportunity  of  paying 
what  I  thought  labor  was  worth ;  and  I  de- 
termined to  make  a  good  thing  of  it  for 
once.  I  figured  it  right  down  to  European 
prices,  —  seventeen  cents  a  day  for  unskilled 
labor.  Of  course,  I  boarded  myself.  I 
ought  to  say  that  I  fixed  the  wages  after 
the  work  was  done,  or  I  might  have  been 
tempted  to  do  as  some  masons  did  who 


WHAT  1  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    137 

worked  for  me  at  four  dollars  a  day.  They 
lay  in  the  shade  and  slept  the  sleep  of  hon- 
est toil  full  half  the  time,  —  at  least  all  the 
time  I  was  away.  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  when  the  wages  of  mechanics  are  raised 
to  eight  and  ten  dollars  a  day  the  workmen 
will  not  come  at  all :  they  will  merely  send 
their  cards. 

I  do  not  see  any  possible  fault  in  the 
above  figures.  I  ought  to  say  that  I  deferred 
putting  a  value  on  the  potatoes  until  I  had 
footed  up  the  debit  column.  This  is  always 
the  safest  way  to  do.  I  had  twenty-five 
bushels.  I  roughly  estimated  that  there  are 
one  hundred  good  ones  to  the  bushel.  Mak- 
ing my  own  market  price,  I  asted  two  cents 
apiece  for  them.  This  I  should  have  con- 
sidered dirt  cheap  last  June,  when  I  was 
going  down  the  rows  with  the  hoe.  If  any 
one  thinks  that  two  cents  each  is  high,  let 
him  try  to  raise  them. 

Nature  is  "  awful  smart."  I  intend  to  be 
complimentary  in  saying  so.  She  shows  it 
in  little  things.  I  have  mentioned  my  at- 


138  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

tempt  to  put  in  a  few  modest  turnips  near 
the  close  of  the  season.  I  sowed  the  seeds, 
by  the  way,  in  the  most  liberal  manner. 
Into  three  or  four  short  rows  I  presume 
I  put  enough  to  sow  an  acre ;  and  they  all 
came  up,  —  came  up  as  thick  as  grass,  as 
crowded  and  useless  as  babies  in  a  Chinese 
village.  Of  course  they  had  to  be  thinned 
out ;  that  is,  pretty  much  all  pulled  up ; 
and  it  took  me  a  long  time ;  for  it  takes 
a  conscientious  man  some  time  to  decide 
which  are  the  best  and  healthiest  plants 
to  spare.  After  all,  I  spared  too  many. 
That  is  the  great  danger  everywhere  in  this 
world  (it  may  not  be  in  the  next)  :  things 
are  too  thick* ;  we  lose  all  in  grasping  for  too 
much.  The  Scotch  say  that  no  man  ought 
to  thin  out  his  own  turnips,  because  he 
will  not  sacrifice  enough  to  leave  room  for 
the  remainder  to  grow :  he  should  get  his 
neighbor,  who  does  not  care  for  the  plants, 
to  do  it.  But  this  is  mere  talk,  and  aside 
from  the  point :  if  there  is  anything  I  desire 
to  avoid  in  these  agricultural  papers,  it  is 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     139 

digression.  I  did  think  that  putting  in 
these  turnips  so  late  in  the  season,  when 
general  activity  has  ceased,  and  in  a  remote 
part  of  the  garden,  they  would  pass  un- 
noticed. But  Nature  never  even  winks,  as  I 
can  see.  The  tender  blades  were  scarcely  out 
of  the  ground  when  she  sent  a  small  black 
fly,  which  seemed  to  have  been  born  and  held 
in  reserve  for  this  purpose,  to  cut  the  leaves. 
They  speedily  made  lace-work  of  the  whole 
bed.  Thus  everything  appears  to  have  its 

special  enemy,  —  except,  perhaps,  p y: 

nothing  ever  troubles  that. 

Did  the  Concord  Grape  ever  come  to  more 
luscious  perfection  than  this  year,  or  yield 
so  abundantly?  The  golden  sunshine  has 
passed  into  them,  and  distended  their  purple 
skins  almost  to  bursting.  Such  heavy  clus- 
ters !  such  bloom !  such  sweetness  !  such 
meat  and  drink  in  their  round  globes! 
What  a  fine  fellow  Bacchus  would  have  been, 
if  he  had  only  signed  the  pledge  when  he 
was  a  young  man  !  I  have  taken  off  clus- 
ters that  were  as  compact  and  almost  as 


140  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

large  as  the  Black  Hamburgs.  It  is  slow 
work  picking  them.  I  do  not  see  how  the 
gatherers  for  the  vintage  ever  get  off  enough. 
It  takes  so  long  to  disentangle  the  bunches 
from  the  leaves  and  the  interlacing  vines 
and  the  supporting  tendrils ;  and  then  I  like 
to  hold  up  each  bunch  and  look  at  it  in 
the  sunlight,  and  get  the  fragrance  and  the 
bloom  of  it,  and  show  it  to  Polly,  who  is 
making  herself  useful,  as  taster  and  com- 
panion, at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  before 
dropping  it  into  the  basket.  But  we  have 
other  company.  The  robin,  the  most  know- 
ing and  greedy  bird  out  of  paradise  (I  trust 
he  will  always  be  kept  out),  has  discovered 
that  the  grape-crop  is  uncommonly  good,  and 
has  come  back,  with  his  whole  tribe  and 
family,  larger  than  it  was  in  pea-time.  He 
knows  the  ripest  bunches  as  well  as  any- 
body, and  tries  them  all.  If  he  would  take 
a  whole  bunch  here  and  there,  say  half  the 
number,  and  be  off  with  it,  I  should  not  so 
much  care.  But  he  will  not.  He  pecks 
away  at  all  the  bunches,  and  spoils  as  many 
as  he  can.  It  is  time  he  went  south. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    141 

There  is  no  prettier  sight  to  my  eye  than 
a  gardener  on  a  ladder  in  his  grape-arbor, 
in  these  golden  days,  selecting  the  heaviest 
clusters  of  grapes,  and  handing  them  down 
to  one  and  another  of  a  group  of  neighbors 
and  friends,  who  stand  under  the  shade  of 
the  leaves,  flecked  with  the  sunlight,  and 
cry,  "  How  sweet !  "  "  What  nice  ones  !  " 
and  the  like,  —  remarks  encouraging  to  the 
man  on  the  ladder.  It  is  great  pleasure  to 
see  people  eat  grapes. 

Moral  Truth.  —  I  have  no  doubt  that 
grapes  taste  best  in  other  people's  mouths. 
It  is  an  old  notion  that  it  is  easier  to  be  gen- 
erous than  to  be  stingy.  I  am  convinced 
that  the  majority  of  people  would  be  gen- 
erous from  selfish  motives,  if  they  had  the 
opportunity. 

Philosophical  Observation.  —  Nothing 
shows  one  who  his  friends  are,  like  prosper- 
ity and  ripe  fruit.  I  had  a  good  friend  in 
the  country,  whom  I  almost  never  visited 
except  in  cherry-time.  By  your  fruits  you 
shall  know  them. 


142  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


SEVENTEENTH  WEEK. 

I  LIKE  to  go  into  the  garden  these  warm 
latter  days,  and  muse.  To  muse  is  to  sit  in 
the  sun,  and  not  think  of  anything.  I  am 
not  sure  but  goodness  comes  out  of  people 
who  bask  in  the  sun,  as  it  does  out  of  a 
sweet  apple  roasted  before  the  fire.  The  late 
September  and  October  sun  of  this  latitude 
is  something  like  the  sun  of  extreme  Lower 
Italy :  you  can  stand  a  good  deal  of  it,  and 
apparently  soak  a  winter  supply  into  the 
system.  If  one  only  could  take  in  his  win- 
ter fuel  in  this  way!  The  next  great  dis- 
covery will  very  likely  be  the  conservation 
of  sunlight.  In  the  correlation  of  forces,  I 
look  to  see  the  day  when  the  superfluous 
sunshine  will  be  utilized ;  as,  for  instance, 
that  which  has  burned  up  my  celery  this 
year  will  be  converted  into  a  force  to  work 
in  the  garden. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     143 

This  sitting  in  the  sun  amid  the  evidences 
of  a  ripe  year  is  the  easiest  part  of  gardening 
I  have  experienced.  But  what  a  combat 
has  gone  on  here  !  What  vegetable  passions 
have  run  the  whole  gamut  of  ambition,  self- 
ishness, greed  of  place,  fruition,  satiety,  and 
now  rest  here  in  the  truce  of  exhaustion! 
What  a  battle-field,  if  one  may  look  upon  it 
so !  The  corn  has  lost  its  ammunition,  and 
stacked  arms  in  a  slovenly,  militia  sort  of 
style.  The  ground  vines  are  torn,  trampled, 
and  withered ;  and  the  ungathered  cucum- 
bers, worthless  melons,  and  golden  squashes 
lie  about  like  the  spent  bombs  and  exploded 
shells  of  a  battle-field.  So  the  cannon-balls 
lay  on  the  sandy  plain  before  Fort  Fisher 
after  the  capture.  So  the  great  grassy 
meadow  at  Munich,  any  morning  during  the 
October  Fest, .  is  strewn  with  empty  beer- 
mugs.  History  constantly  repeats  itself. 
There  is  a  large  crop  of  moral  reflections  in 
my  garden,  which  anybody  is  at  liberty  to 
gather  who  passes  this  way. 

I  have  tried  to  get  in  anything  that  of- 


144  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

fered  temptation  to  sin.  There  would  be 
no  thieves  if  there  was  nothing  to  steal; 
and  I  suppose,  in  the  thieves'  catechism  ( 
the  provider  is  as  bad  as  the  thief ;  and, 
probably,  I  am  to  blame  for  leaving  out  a 
few  winter-pears,  which  some  predatory  boy 
carried  off  on  Sunday.  At  first  I  was  an- 
gry, and  said  I  should  like  to  have  caught 
the  urchin  in  the  act  ;  but,  on  second 
thought,  I  was  glad  I  did  not.  The  inter- 
view could  not  have  been  pleasant.  I 
should  n't  have  known  what  to  do  with  him. 
The  chances  are  that  he  would  have  escaped 
away  with  his  pockets  full,  and  gibed  at  me 
from  a  safe  distance.  And,  if  I  had  got  my 
hands  on  him,  I  should  have  been  still  more 
embarrassed.  If  I  had  flogged  him,  he 
would  have  got  over  it  a  good  deal  sooner 
than  I  should.  That  sort  of  boy  does  not 
mind  castigation  any  more  than  he  does  tear- 
ing his  trousers  in  the  briers.  If  I  had 
treated  him  with  kindness,  and  conciliated 
him  with  grapes,  showing  him  the  enormity 
of  his  offence,  I  suppose  he  would  have  come 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT   GARDENING.     145 

the  next  night,  and  taken  the  remainder  of 
the  grapes.  The  truth  is  that  the  public 
morality  is  lax  on  the  subject  of  fruit.  If 
anybody  puts  arsenic  or  gunpowder  into  his 
watermelons,  he  is  universally  denounced 
as  a  stingy  old  murderer  by  the  community. 
A  great  many  people  regard  growing  fruit 
as  lawful  prey,  who  would  not  think  of 
breaking  into  your  cellar  to  take  it.  I  found 
a  man  once  in  my  raspberry-bushes,  early  in 
the  season,  when  we  were  waiting  for  a  dish- 
ful to  ripen.  Upon  inquiring  what  he  was 
about,  he  said  he  was  only  eating  some ;  and 
the  operation  seemed  to  be  so  natural  and 
simple  that  I  disliked  to  disturb  him.  And 
I  am  not  very  sure  that  one  has  a  right  to 
the  whole  of  an  abundant  crop  of  fruit  un- 
til he  has  gathered  it.  At  least  in  a  city 
garden,  one  might  as  well  conform  his  theory 
to  the  practice  of  the  community. 

As  for  children  (and  it  sometimes  looks 
as  if  the  chief  products  of  my  garden  were 
small  boys  and  hens),  it  is  admitted  that 
they  are  barbarians.  There  is  no  exception 


146  MY  SUMMER  IN  A    GARDEN. 

among  them  to  this  condition  of  barbarism. 
This  is  not  to  say  that  they  are  not  attrac- 
tive ;  for  they  have  the  virtues  as  well  as  the 
vices  of  a  primitive  people.  It  is  held  by 
some  naturalists  that  the  child  is  only  a 
zoophyte,  with  a  stomach,  and  feelers  radiat- 
ing from  it  in  search  of  something  to  fill  it. 
It  is  true  that  a  child  is  always  hungry  all 
over;  but  he  is  also  curious  all  over,  and 
his  curiosity  is  excited  about  as  early  as  his 
hunger.  He  immediately  begins  to  put  out 
his  moral  feelers  into  the  unknown  and  the 
infinite  to  discover  what  sort  of  an  existence 
this  is  into  which  he  has  come.  His  imagi- 
nation is  quite  as  hungry  as  his  stomach. 
And  again  and  again  it  is  stronger  than  his 
other  appetites.  You  can  easily  engage  his 
imagination  in  a  story  which  will  make  him 
forget  his  dinner.  He  is  credulous  and  su- 
perstitious, and  open  to  all  wonder.  In  this, 
he  is  exactly  like  the  savage  races.  Both 
gorge  themselves  on  the  marvellous ;  and  al] 
the  unknown  is  marvellous  to  them.  I  know 
the  general  impression  is  that  children  must 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.   147 

be  governed  through  their  stomachs.  I  think 
they  can  be  controlled  quite  as  well  through 
their  curiosity ;  that  being  the  more  craving 
and  imperious  of  the  two.  I  have  seen 
children  follow  about  a  person  who  told 
them  stories,  and  interested  them  with  his 
charming  talk,  as  greedily  as  if  his  pockets 
had  been  full  of  bon-bons. 

Perhaps  this  fact  has  no  practical  rela- 
tion to  gardening ;  but  it  occurs  to  me  that, 
if  I  should  paper  the  outside  of  my  high 
board  fence  with  the  leaves  of  The  Arabian 
Nights,  it  would  afford  me  a  good  deal  of 
protection,  —  more,  in  fact,  than  spikes  in 
the  top,  which  tear  trousers  and  encourage 
profanity,  but  do  not  save  much  fruit.  A 
spiked  fence  is  a  challenge  to  any  boy  of 
spirit.  But  if  the  fence  were  papered,  with 
fairy-tales,  would  he  not  stop  to  read  them 
until  it  was  too  late  for  him  to  climb  into 
the  garden  ?  I  don't  know.  Human  nature 
is  vicious.  The  boy  might  regard  the  pic- 
ture of  the  garden  of  the  Hesperides  only 
as  an  advertisement  of  what  was  over  the 


148  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

fence.  I  begin  to  find  that  the  problem  of 
raising  fruit  is  nothing  to  that  of  getting  it 
after  it  has  matured.  So  long  as  the  law, 
just  in  many  respects,  is  in  force  against 
shooting  birds  and  small  boys,  the  gardener 
may  sow  in  tears  and  reap  in  vain. 

The  power  of  a  boy  is,  to  me,  something 
fearful.  Consider  what  he  can  do.  You 
buy  and  set  out  a  choice  pear-tree  ;  you  en- 
rich the  earth  for  it ;  you  train  and  trim  it, 
and  vanquish  the  borer,  and  watch  its  slow 
growth.  At  length  it  rewards  your  care  by 
producing  two  or  three  pears,  which  you  cut 
up  and  divide  in  the  family,  declaring  the 
flavor  of  the  bit  you  eat  to  be  something  ex^ 
traordinary.  The  next  year  the  little  tree 
blossoms  full,  and  sets  well ;  and  in  the  au- 
tumn has  on  its  slender,  drooping  limbs  half 
a  bushel  of  fruit,  daily  growing  more  deli- 
cious in  the  sun.  You  show  it  to  your 
friends,  reading  to  them  the  French  name, 
which  you  can  never  remember,  on  the  la- 
bel; and  you  take  an  honest  pride  in  the 
successful  fruit  of  long  care.  That  night 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT   GARDENING.    149 

your  pears  shall  be  required  of  you  by  a 
boy !  Along  conies  an  irresponsible  urchin, 
who  has  not  been  growing  much  longer 
than  the  tree,  with  not  twenty-five  cents' 
worth  of  clothing  on  him,  and  in  five  min- 
utes takes  off  every  pear,  and  retires  into 
safe  obscurity.  In  five  minutes  the  remorse- 
less boy  has  undone  your  work  of  years,  and 
with  the  easy  nonchalance,  I  doubt  not,  of 
any  agent  of  fate,  in  whose  path  nothing  is 
sacred  or  safe. 

And  it  is  not  of  much  consequence.  The 
boy  goes  on  his  way,  —  to  Congress,  or  to 
State  Prison  :  in  either  place  he  will  be  ac- 
cused of  stealing,  perhaps  wrongfully.  You 
learn,  in  time,  that  it  is  better  to  have  had 
pears  and  lost  them  than  not  to  have  had 
pears  at  all.  You  come  to  know  that  the 
least  (and  rarest)  part  of  the  pleasure  of 
raising  fruit  is  the  vulgar  eating  it.  You 
recall  your  delight  in  conversing  with  the 
nurseryman,  and  looking  at  his  illustrated 
catalogues,  where  all  the  pears  are  drawn 
perfect  in  form  and  of  extra  size,  and  at  that 


150  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

exact  moment  between  ripeness  and  decay 
which  it  is  so  impossible  to  hit  in  practice. 
Fruit  cannot  be  raised  on  this  earth  to  taste 
as  you  imagine  those  pears  would  taste.  For 
years  you  have  this  pleasure  unalloyed  by 
any  disenchanting  reality.  How  you  watch 
the  tender  twigs  in  spring,  and  the  freshly 
forming  bark,  hovering  about  the  healthy 
growing  tree  with  your  pruning-knif e  many 
a  sunny  morning  !  That  is  happiness. 
Then,  if  you  know  it,  you  are  drinking  the 
very  wine  of  life ;  and  when  the  sweet  juices 
of  the  earth  mount  the  limbs,  and  flow  down 
the  tender  stem,  ripening  and  reddening  the 
pendent  fruit,  you  feel  that  you  somehow 
stand  at  the  source  of  things,  and  have  no 
unimportant  share  in  the  processes  of  Na- 
ture. Enter  at  this  moment  boy  the  de- 
stroyer, whose  office  is  that  of  preserver  as 
well ;  for,  though  he  removes  the  fruit  from 
your  sight,  it  remains  in  your  memory  im- 
mortally ripe  and  desirable.  The  gardener 
needs  all  these  consolations  of  a  high  phi- 
losophy: 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.    151 


EIGHTEENTH  WEEK. 

REGRETS  are  idle  ;  yet  history  is  one  long 
regret.  Everything  might  have  turned  out 
so  differently !  If  Ravaillac  had  not  been 
imprisoned  for  debt,  he  would  not  have 
stabbed  Henry  of  Navarre.  If  William  of 
Orange  had  escaped  assassination  by  Phil- 
ip's emissaries ;  if  France  had  followed  the 
French  Calvin,  and  embraced  Protestant 
Calvinism,  as  it  came  very  near  doing  to- 
wards the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century ;  if 
the  Continental  ammunition  had  not  given 
out  at  Bunker's  Hill ;  if  Blucher  had  not 
"  come  up "  at  Waterloo,  —  the  lesson  is 
that  things  do  not  come  up  unless  they  are 
planted.  When  you  go  behind  the  histori- 
cal scenery,  you  find  there  is  a  rope  and  pul- 
ley to  effect  every  transformation  which  has 
astonished  you.  It  was  the  rascality  of  a 
minister  and  a  contractor  five  years  before 


152  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

that  lost  the  battle ;  and  the  cause  of  the 
defeat  was  worthless  ammunition.  I  should 
like  to  know  how  many  wars  have  been 
caused  by  fits  of  indigestion,  and  how  many 
more  dynasties  have  been  upset  by  the  love 
of  woman  than  by  the  hate  of  man.  It  is 
only  because  we  are  ill  informed  that  any- 
thing surprises  us ;  and  we  are  disappointed 
because  we  expect  that  for  which  we  have 
not  provided. 

I  had  too  vague  expectations  of  what  my 
garden  would  do  of  itself.  A  garden  ought 
to  produce  one  everything,  —  just  as  a  busi- 
ness ought  to  support  a  man,  and  a  house 
ought  to  keep  itself.  We  had  a  convention 
lately  to  resolve  that  the  house  should  keep  it- 
self ;  but  it  won't.  There  has  been  a  lively 
time  in  our  garden  this  summer ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  there  is  very  little  show  for  it. 
It  has  been  a  terrible  campaign  ;  but  where  is 
the  indemnity  ?  Where  are  all  "  sass  "  and 
Lorraine  ?  It  is  true  that  we  have  lived  on 
the  country ;  but  we  desire,  besides,  the  fruits 
of  the  war.  There  are  no  onions,  for  one 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING    153 

thing.  I  am  quite  ashamed  to  take  people 
into  my  garden,  and  have  them  notice  the 
absence  of  onions.  It  is  very  marked.  In 
onion  is  strength ;  and  a  garden  without  it 
lacks  flavor.  The  onion  in  its  satin  wrap- 
pings is  among  the  most  beautiful  of  vege- 
tables ;  and  it  is  the  only  one  that  represents 
the  essence  of  things.  It  can  almost  be  said 
to  have  a  soul.  You  take  off  coat  after  coat 
and  the  onion  is  still  there. ;  and,  when  the 
last  one  is  removed,  who  dare  say  that  the 
onion  itself  is  destroyed,  though  you  can 
weep  over  its  departed  spirit  ?  If  there  is 
any  one  thing  on  this  fallen  earth  that  the 
angels  in  heaven  weep  over  more  than  an- 
other, it  is  the  onion. 

I  know  that  there  is  supposed  to  be  a 
prejudice  against  the  onion ;  but  I  think 
chere  is  rather  a  cowardice  in  regard  to  it. 
I  doubt  not  that  all  men  and  women  love  the 
onion;  but  few  confess  their  love.  Affec- 
tion for  it  is  concealed.  Good  New  Eng- 
landers  are  as  shy  of  owning  it  as  they  are 
of  talking  about  religion.  Some  people  have 


154  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

days  on  which  they  eat  onions,  —  what  you 
might  call  "  retreats,"  or  their  "  Thursdays." 
The  act  is  in  the  nature  of  a  religious  cere- 
mony, an  Eleusinian  mystery  ;  not  a  breath 
of  it  must  get  abroad.  On  that  day  they  see 
no  company ;  they  deny  the  kiss  of  greeting 
to  the  dearest  friend;  they  retire  within 
themselves,  and  hold  communion  with  one  of 
the  most  pungent  and  penetrating  manifes- 
tations of  the  moral  vegetable  world.  Happy 
is  said  to  be  the  family  which  can  eat  onions 
together.  They  are,  for  the  time  being,  sepa- 
rate from  the  world,  and  have  a  harmony  of 
aspiration.  There  is  a  hint  here  for  th,e  re- 
formers. Let  them  become  apostles  of  the 
onion ;  let  them  eat,  and  preach  it  to  their 
fellows,  and  circulate  tracts  of  it  in  the  form 
of  seeds.  In  the  onion  is  the  hope  of  uni- 
versal brotherhood.  If  all  men  will  eat  on- 
ions at  all  times,  they  will  come  into  a  uni- 
versal sympathy.  Look  at  Italy.  I  hope  I 
am  not  mistaken  as  to  the  cause  of  her  unity. 
It  was  the  Reds  who  preached  the  gospel 
which  made  it  possible.  All  the  Reds  of 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.  155 

Europe,  all  the  sworn  devotees  of  the  mystic 
Mary  Ann,  eat  of  the  common  vegetable. 
Their  oaths  are  strong  with  it.  It  is  the  food, 
also,  of  the  common  people  of  Italy.  All 
the  social  atmosphere  of  that  delicious  land 
is  laden  with  it.  Its  odor  is  a  practical 
democracy.  In  the  churches  all  are  alike ; 
there  is  one  faith,  one  smell.  The  entrance 
of  Victor  Emmanuel  into  Rome  is  only  the 
pompous  proclamation  of  a. unity  which  gar- 
lic had  already  accomplished  ;  and  yet  we, 
who  boast  of  our  democracy,  eat  onions  in 
secret. 

I  now  see  that  I  have  left  out  many  of  the 
most  moral  elements.  Neither  onions,  pars- 
nips, carrots,  nor  cabbages  are  here.  I  have 
never  seen  a  garden  in  the  autumn  before 
without  the  uncouth  cabbage  in  it ;  but  my 
garden  gives  the  impression  of  a  garden 
without  a  head.  The  cabbage  is  the  rose 
of  Holland.  I  admire  the  force  by  which  it 
compacts  its  crisp  leaves  into  a  solid  head. 
The  secret  of  it  would  be  priceless  to  the 
world.  We  should  see  less  expansive  fore- 


156  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 

heads  with  nothing  within.  Even  the 
largest  cabbages  are  not  always  the  best. 
But  I  mention  these  things,  not  from  any 
sympathy  I  have  with  the  vegetables  named, 
but  to  show  how  hard  it  is  to  go  contrary  to 
the  expectations  of  society.  Society  expects 
every  man  to  have  certain  things  in  his  gar- 
den. Not  to  raise  cabbage  is  as  if  one  had 
no  pew  in  church.  Perhaps  we  shall  come 
some  day  to  free  churches  and  free  gardens ; 
when  I  can  show  my  neighbor  through  my 
tired  garden,  at  the  end  of  the  season,  when 
skies  are  overcast,  and  brown  leaves  are 
swirling  down,  and  not  mind  if  he  does  raise 
his  eyebrows  when  he  observes,  "  Ah !  I 
see  you  have  none  of  this,  and  of  that." 
At  present  we  want  the  moral  courage  to 
plant  only  what  we  need ;  to  spend  only 
what  will  bring  us  peace,  regardless  of  what 
is  going  on  over  the  fence.  We  are  half 
ruined  by  conformity,  but  we  should  be 
wholly  ruined  without  it :  and  I  presume  I 
shall  make  a  garden  next  year  that  will  be 
as  popular  as  possible. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     157 

And  this  brings  me  to  what  I  see  may  be 
a  crisis  in  life.  I  begin  to  feel  the  tempta- 
tion of  experiment.  Agriculture,  horticul- 
ture, floriculture,  —  these  are  vast  fields,  into 
which  one  may  wander  away,  and  never  be 
seen  more.  It  seemed  to  me  a  very  simple 
thing,  this  gardening  ;  but  it  opens  up  aston- 
ishingly. It  is  like  the  infinite  possibilities 
in  worsted-work.  Polly  sometimes  says  to 
me,  "  I  wish  you  would  call  at  Bobbin's,  and 
match  that  skein  of  worsted  for  me  when  you 
are  in  town."  Time  was  I  used  to  accept 
such  a  commission  with  alacrity  and  self- 
confidence.  I  went  to  Bobbin's,  and  asked 
one  of  his  young  men,  with  easy  indifference, 
to  give  me  some  of  that.  The  young  man, 
who  is  as  handsome  a  young  man  as  ever  I 
looked  at,  and  who  appears  to  own  the  shop, 
and  whose  suave  superciliousness  would  be 
worth  everything  to  a  cabinet  minister  who 
wanted  to  repel  applicants  for  place,  says, 
"  I  have  n't  an  ounce  :  I  have  sent  to  Paris, 
and  I  expect  it  every  day.  I  have  a  good 
deal  of  difficu]  ty  in  getting  that  shade  in  my 


158  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

assortment."  To  think  that  he  is  in  com- 
munication with  Paris,  and  perhaps  with  Per- 
sia !  Respect  for  such  a  being  gives  place  to 
awe.  I  go  to  another  shop,  holding  fast  to 
my  scarlet  clue.  There  I  am  shown  a  heap 
of  stuff,  with  more  colors  and  shades  than 
I  had  supposed  existed  in  all  the  world. 
What  a  blaze  of  distraction !  I  have  been 
told  to  get  as  near  the  shade  as  I  could ;  and 
so  I  compare  and  contrast,  till  the  whole 
thing  seems  to  me  about  of  one  color.  But 
I  can  settle  my  mind  on  nothing.  The  af- 
fair assumes  a  high  degree  of  importance. 
I  am  satisfied  with  nothing  but  perfection. 
I  don't  know  what  may  happen  if  the  shade 
is  not  matched.  I  go  to  another  shop,  and 
another,  and  another.  At  last  a  pretty  girl, 
who  could  make  any  customer  believe  that 
green  is  blue,  matches  the  shade  in  a  minute. 
I  buy  five  cents'  worth.  That  was  the  order. 
Women  are  the  most  economical  persons 
that  ever  were.  I  have  spent  two  hours  in 
this  five-cent  business;  but  who  shall  say 
they  were  wasted,  when  I  take  the  stuff 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     159 

home,  and  Polly  says  it  is  a  perfect  match, 
and  looks  so  pleased,  and  holds  it  up  with 
the  work,  at  arm's  length,  and  turns  her 
head  one  side,  and  then  takes  her  needle 
and  works  it  in  ?  Working  in,  I  can  see, 
my  own  obligingness  and  amiability  with 
every  stitch.  Five  cents  is  dirt  cheap  for 
such  a  pleasure. 

The  things  I  may  do  in  my  garden  mul- 
tiply on  my  vision.  Howr  fascinating  have 
the  catalogues  of  the  nurserymen  become ! 
Can  I  raise  all  those  beautiful  varieties,  each 
one  of  which  is  preferable  to  the  other? 
Shall  I  try  all  the  kinds  of  grapes,  and  all 
the  sorts  of  pears  ?  I  have  already  fifteen 
varieties  of  strawberries  (vines)  ;  and  I  have 
no  idea  that  I  have  hit  the  right  one.  Must 
I  subscribe  to  all  the  magazines  and  weekly 
papers  which  offer  premiums  of  the  best 
vines?  Oh,  that  all  the  strawberries  were 
rolled  into  one,  that  I  could  enclose  all  its 
lusciousness  in  one  bite  !  Oh,  for  the  good 
old  days  when  a  strawberry  was  a  straw- 
berry, and  there  was  no  perplexity  about  it ! 


160  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

There  are  more  berries  now  than  churches  ; 
and  no  one  knows  what  to  believe.  I  have 
seen  gardens  which  were  all  experiment, 
given  over  to  every  new  thing,  and  which 
produced  little  or  nothing  to  the  owners,  ex- 
cept the  pleasure  of  expectation.  People 
grow  pear-trees  at  great  expense  of  time  and 
money,  which  never  yield  them  more  than 
four  pears  to  the  tree.  The  fashions  of 
ladies'  bonnets  are  nothing  to  the  fashions 
of  nurserymen.  He  who  attempts  to  follow 
them  has  a  business  for  life;  but  his  life 
may  be  short.  If  I  enter  upon  this  wide 
field  of  horticultural  experiment,  I  shall 
leave  peace  behind ;  and  I  may  expect  the 
ground  to  open,  and  swallow  me  and  all  my 
fortune.  May  Heaven  keep  me  to  the  old 
roots  and  herbs  of  my  forefathers !  Perhaps 
in  the  world  of  modern  reforms  this  is  not 
possible  ;  but  I  intend  now  to  cultivate  only 
the  standard  things,  and  learn  to  talk  know- 
ingly of  the  rest.  Of  course,  one  must  keep 
up  a  reputation.  I  have  seen  people  greatly 
enjoy  themselves,  and  elevate  themselves  in 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     161 

their  own  esteem,  in  a  wise  and  critical  talk 
about  all  the  choice  wines,  while  they  were 
sipping  a  decoction,  the  original  cost  of 
which  bore  no  relation  to  the  price  of 
grapes. 


162  MY  SUMMER  IN  A  GARDEN. 


NINETEENTH  WEEK. 

THE  closing  scenes  are  not  necessarily  fu- 
nereal. A  garden  should  be  got  ready  for 
winter  as  well  as  for  summer.  When  one 
goes  into  winter  quarters  he  wants  every- 
thing neat  and  trig.  Expecting  high  winds, 
we  bring  everything  into  close  reef.  Some 
men  there  are  who  never  shave  (if  they  are 
so  absurd  as  ever  to  shave)  except  when 
they  go  abroad,  and  who  do  not  take  care  to 
wear  polished  boots  in  the  bosoms  of  their 
families.  I  like  a  man  who  shaves  (next  to 
one  who  doesn't  shave)  to  satisfy  his  own 
conscience,  and  not  for  display,  and  who 
dresses  as  neatly  at  home  as  he  does  any- 
where. Such  a  man  will  be  likely  to  put 
his  garden  in  complete  order  before  the 
snow  comes,  so  that  its  last  days  shall  not 
present  a  scene  of  melancholy  ruin  and  de- 
cay. 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     163 

I  confess  that,  after  such  an  exhausting 
campaign,  I  felt  a  great  temptation  to  retire, 
and  call  it  a  drawn  engagement.  But  better 
counsels  prevailed.  I  determined  that  the 
weeds  should  not  sleep  on  the  field  of  battle. 
I  routed  them  out,  and  levelled  their  works. 
I  am  master  of  the  situation.  If  I  have 
made  a  desert,  I  at  least  have  peace ;  but  it 
is  not  quite  a  desert.  The  strawberries,  the 
raspberries,  the  celery,  the  turnips,  wave 
green  above  the  clean  earth,  with  no  enemy 
in  sight.  In  these  golden  October  days  no 
work  is  more  fascinating  than  this  getting 
ready  for  spring.  The  sun  is  no  longer  a 
burning  enemy,  but  a  friend,  illuminating 
all  the  open  space,  and  warming  the  mellow 
soil.  And  the  pruning  and  clearing-away 
of  rubbish,  and  the  fertilizing,  go  on  with 
something  of  the  hilarity  of  a  wake,  rather 
than  the  despondency  of  other  funerals. 
When  the  wind  begins  to  come  out  of  the 
northwest  of  set  purpose,  and  to  sweep  the 
ground  with  low  and  searching  fierceness, 
very  different  from  the  roystering,  jolly 


164  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

bluster  of  early  fall,  I  have  put  the  straw- 
berries under  their  coverlet  of  leaves,  pruned 
the  grapevines  and  laid  them  under  the  soil, 
tied  up  the  tender  plants,  given  the  fruit- 
trees  a  good,  solid  meal  about  the  roots ; 
and  so  I  turn  away,  writing  Resurgam  on 
the  gatepost.  And  Calvin,  aware  that  the 
summer  is  past  and  the  harvest  is  ended, 
and  that  a  mouse  in  the  kitchen  is  worth 
two  birds  gone  south,  scampers  away  to  the 
house  with  his  tail  in  the  air. 

And  yet  I  am  not  perfectly  at  rest  in  my 
mind.  I  know  that  this  is  only  a  truce 
until  the  parties  recover  their  exhausted 
energies.  All  winter  long  the  forces  of 
chemistry  will  be  mustering  under  ground, 
repairing  the  losses,  calling  up  the  reserves, 
getting  new  strength  from  my  surface-ferti- 
lizing bounty,  and  making  ready  for  the 
spring  campaign.  They  will  open  it  be- 
fore I  am  ready  :  while  the  snow  is  scarcely 
melted,  and  the  ground  is  not  passable, 
they  will  begin  to  move  on  my  works  and 
the  fight  will  commence.  Yet  how  deceit- 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT   GARDENING.     165 

fully  it  Will  open  to  the  music  of  birds  and 
the  soft  enchantment  of  the  spring  morn- 
ings !  I  shall  even  be  permitted  to  win  a  few 
skirmishes  ;  the  secret  forces  will  even  wait 
for  me  to  plant  and  sow,  and  show  my  full 
hand,  before  they  come  on  in  heavy  and  de- 
termined assault.  There  are  already  signs 
of  an  internecine  fight  with  the  devil-grass, 
which  has  intrenched  itself  in  a  considerable 
portion  of  my  garden-patch.  It  contests  the 
ground  inch  by  inch ;  and  digging  it  out  is 
very  much  such  labor  as  eating  a  piece  of 
choke-cherry  pie  with  the  stones  all  in.  It 
is  work,  too,  that  I  know  by  experience  I 
shall  have  to  do  alone.  Every  man  must 
eradicate  his  own  devil-grass.  The  neigh- 
bors who  have  leisure  to  help  you  in  grape- 
picking  time  are  all  busy  when  devil-grass  is 
most  aggressive.  My  neighbors'  visits  are 
well  timed :  it  is  only  their  hens  which  have 
all  seasons  for  their  own. 

I  am  told  that  abundant  and  rank  weeds 
are  signs  of  a  rich  soil ;  but  I  have  noticed 
that  a  thin,  poor  soil  grows  little  but  weeds. 


166  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  substratum 
is  the  same,  and  that  the  only  choice  in  this 
world  is  what  kind  of  weeds  you  will  have. 
I  am  not  much  attracted  by  the  gaunt, 
flavorless  mullein  and  the  wiry  thistle  of 
upland  country  pastures,  where  the  grass  is 
always  gray,  as  if  the  world  were  already 
weary  and  sick  of  life.  The  awkward,  un- 
couth wickedness  of  remote  country-places, 
where  culture  has  died  out  after  the  first 
crop,  is  about  as  disagreeable  as  the  ranker 
and  richer  vice  of  city  life,  forced  by  artifi- 
cial heat  and  the  juices  of  an  overfed  civ- 
ilization. There  is  no  doubt  that,  on  the 
whole,  the  rich  soil  is  the  best :  the  fruit  of 
it  has  body  and  flavor.  To  what  affluence 
does  a  woman  (to  take  an  instance,  thank 
Heaven,  which  is  common)  grow,  with  favor- 
ing circumstances,  under  the  stimulus  of  the 
richest  social  and  intellectual  influences !  I 
am  aware  that  there  has  been  a  good  deal 
said  in  poetry  about  the  fringed  gentian  and 
the  harebell  of  rocky  districts  and  waysides, 
and  I  know  that  it  is  possible  for  maideng 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     167 

to  bloom  in  very  slight  soil  into  a  wild- wood 
grace  and  beauty ;  yet,  the  world  through, 
they  lack  that  wealth  of  charms,  that  tropic 
affluence  of  both  person  and  mind,  which 
higher  and  more  stimulating  culture  brings, 
—  the  passion  as  well  as  the  soul  glowing 
in  the  Cloth-of-Gold  rose.  Neither  persons 
nor  plants  are  ever  fully  themselves  until 
they  are  cultivated  to  their  highest.  I,  for 
one,  have  no  fear  that  society  will  be  too 
much  enriched.  The  only  question  is  about 
keeping  down  the  weeds ;  and  I  have  learned 
by  experience  that  we  need  new  sorts  of 
hoes,  and  more  disposition  to  use  them. 

Moral  Deduction.  —  The  difference  be- 
tween soil  and  society  is  evident.  We  bury 
decay  in  the  earth ;  we  plant  in  it  the  per- 
ishing ;  we  feed  it  with  offensive  refuse :  but 
nothing  grows  out  of  it  that  is  not  clean ; 
it  gives  us  back  life  and  beauty  for  our  rub- 
bish. Society  returns  us  what  we  give  it. 

Pretending  to  reflect  upon  these  things, 
but  in  reality  watching  the  blue-jays,  who 
are  pecking  at  the  purple  berries  of  the 


168  MY  SUMMER  IN  A   GARDEN. 

woodbine  on  the  south  gable,  I  approach  the 
house.  Polly  is  picking  up  chestnuts  on  the 
sward,  regardless  of  the  high  wind  which 
rattles  them  about  her  head  and  upon  the 
glass  roof  of  her  winter-garden.  The  gar- 
den, I  see,  is  filled  with  thrifty  plants,  which 
will  make  it  always  summer  there.  The 
callas  about  the  fountain  will  be  in  flower 
by  Christmas :  the  plant  appears  to  keep 
that  holiday  in  her  secret  heart  all  summer. 
I  close  the  outer  windows  as  we  go  along, 
and  congratulate  myself  that  we  are  ready 
for  winter.  For  the  winter-garden  I  have 
no  responsibility:  Polly  has  entire  charge 
of  it.  I  am  only  required  to  keep  it  heated, 
and  not  too  hot,  either;  to  smoke  it  often 
for  the  death  of  the  bugs  ;  to  water  it  once 
a  day ;  to  move  this  and  that  into  the  sun 
and  out  of  the  sun  pretty  constantly:  but 
she  does  all  the  work.  We  never  relinquish 
that  theory. 

As  we  pass  around  the  house,  I  discover 
a  boy  in  the  ravine  filling  a  bag  with  chest- 
nuts and  hickory-nuts.  They  are  not  plenty 


WHAT  I  KNOW  ABOUT  GARDENING.     169 

this  year ;  and  I  suggest  the  propriety  of 
leaving  some  for  us.  The  boy  is  a  little 
slow  to  take  the  idea :  but  he  has  apparently 
found  the  picking  poor,  and  exhausted  it ; 
for,  as  he  turns  away  down  the  glen,  he  hails 
me  with  — 

"  Mister,  I  say,  can  you  tell  me  where  I 
can  find  some  walnuts  ?  " 

The  coolness  of  this  world  grows  upon  me. 
It  is  time  to  go  in  and  light  a  wood-fire  on 
the  hearth. 


CALVIN: 

A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 


NOTE.  The  following  brief  Memoir  of  one  of  the  charac- 
ters in  this  book  is  added  by  his  friend,  in  the  hope  that  the 
record  of  an  exemplary  life  in  an  humble  sphere  may  be  of 
some  service  to  the  world. 

HARTFORD,  January,  1880. 


CALVIN: 

A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

CALVIN  is  dead.  His  life,  long  to  him, 
but  short  for  the  rest  of  us,  was  not  marked 
by  startling  adventures,  but  his  character 
was  so  uncommon  and  his  qualities  were  so 
worthy  of  imitation  that  I  have  been  asked 
by  those  who  personally  knew  him  to"  set 
down  my  recollections  of  his  career. 

His  origin  and  ancestry  were  shrouded  in 
mystery  ;  even  his  age  was  a  matter  of  pure 
conjecture.  Although  he  was  of  the  Mal- 
tese race,  I  have  reason  to  suppose  that  he 
was  American  by  birth,  as  he  certainly  was 
in  sympathy.  Calvin  was  given  to  me  eight 
years  ago  by  Mrs.  Stowe,  but  she  knew 
nothing  of  his  age  or  origin.  He  walked 
into  her  house  one  day,  out  of  the  great  un- 
known, and  became  at  once  at  home,  as  if 


174     CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

he  had  been  always  a  friend  of  the  family. 
He  appeared  to  have  artistic  and  literary 
tastes,  and  it  was  as  if  he  had  inquired  at  the 
door  if  that  was  the  residence  of  the  author 
of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and,  upon  being 
assured  that  it  was,  had  decided  to  dwell 
there.  This  is,  of  course,  fanciful,  for  his 
antecedents  were  wholly  unknown;  but  in 
his  time  he  could  hardly  have  been  in  any 
household  where  he  would  not  have  heard 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  talked  about.  When 
he  came  to  Mrs.  Stowe  he  was  as  large  as  he 
ever  was,  and  apparently  as  old  as  he  ever 
became.  Yet  there  was  in  him  no  appear- 
ance of  age ;  he  was  in  the  happy  maturity 
of  all  his  powers,  and  you  would  rather  have 
said  that  in  that  maturity  he  had  found  the 
secret  of  perpetual  youth.  And  it  was  as 
difficult  to  believe  that  he  would  ever  be 
aged  as  it  was  to  imagine  that  he  had  ever 
been  in  immature  youth.  There  was  in  him 
a  mysterious  perpetuity. 

After  some  years,  when  Mrs.  Stowe  made 
her  winter  home  in  Florida,  Calvin  came  to 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.     175 

live  with  us.  From  the  first  moment,  he 
fell  into  the  ways  of  the  house  and  assumed 
a  recognized  position  in  the  family,  —  I  say 
recognized,  because  after  he  became  known 
he  was  always  inquired  for  by  visitors,  and 
in  the  letters  to  the  other  members  of  the 
family  he  always  received  a  message.  Al- 
though the  least  obtrusive  of  beings,  his  in- 
dividuality always  made  itself  felt. 

His  personal  appearance  had  much  to  do 
with  this,  for  he  was  of  royal  mould,  and 
had  an  air  of  high  breeding.  He  was  large, 
but  he  had  nothing  of  the  fat  grossness  of 
the  celebrated  Angora  family ;  though  pow- 
erful, he  was  exquisitely  proportioned,  and 
as  graceful  in  every  movement  as  a  young 
leopard.  When  he  stood  up  to  open  a  door 
—  he  opened  all  the  doors  with  old-fashioned 
latches  —  he  was  portentously  tall,  and  when 
stretched  on  the  rug  before  the  fire  he 
seemed  too  long  for  this  world,  —  as  indeed 
he  was.  His  coat  was  the  finest  and  softest 
I  have  ever  seen,  a  shade  of  quiet  Maltese ; 
and  from  his  throat  downward,  underneath, 


176     CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

to  the  white  tips  of  his  feet,  he  wore  the 
whitest  and  most  delicate  ermine ;  and  no 
person  was  ever  more  fastidiously  neat.  In 
his  finely  formed  head  you  saw  something 
of  his  aristocratic  character ;  the  ears  were 
small  and  cleanly  cut,  there  was  a  tinge  of 
pink  in  the  nostrils,  his  face  was  handsome, 
and  the  expression  of  his  countenance  ex- 
ceedingly intelligent, —  I  should  call  it  even 
a  sweet  expression,  if  the  term  were  not 
inconsistent  with  his  look  of  alertness  and 
sagacity. 

It  is  difficult  to  convey  a  just  idea  of  his 
gayety  in  connection  with  his  dignity  and 
gravity,  which  his  name  expressed.  As  we 
know  nothing  of  his  family,  of  course  it 
will  be  understood  that  Calvin  was  his  Chris- 
tian name.  He  had  times  of  relaxation 
into  utter  playfulness,  delighting  in  a  ball 
of  yarn,  catching  sportively  at  stray  ribbons 
when  his  mistress  was  at  her  toilet,  and 
pursuing  his  own  tail  with  hilarity,  for  lack 
of  anything  better.  He  could  amuse  him- 
self by  the  hour,  and  he  did  not  care  for 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.    177 

children ;  perhaps  something  in  his  past  was 
present  to  his  memory.  He  had  absolutely 
no  bad  habits,  and  his  disposition  was  per- 
fect. I  never  saw  him  exactly  angry,  though 
I  have  seen  his  tail  grow  to  an  enormous 
size  when  a  strange  cat  appeared  upon  his 
lawn.  He  disliked  cats,  evidently  regard- 
ing them  as  feline  and  treacherous,  and  he 
had  no  association  with  them.  Occasionally 
there  would  be  heard  a  night  concert  in  the 
shrubbery.  Calvin  would  ask  to  have  the 
door  opened,  and  then  you  would  hear  a 
rush  and  a  "  pestzt,"  and  the  concert  would 
explode,  and  Calvin  would  quietly  come  in 
and  resume  his  seat  on  the  hearth.  There 
was  no  trace  of  anger  in  his  manner,  but  he 
would  n't  have  any  of  that  about  the  house. 
He  had  the  rare  virtue  of  magnanimity. 
Although  he  had  fixed  notions  about  his 
own  rights,  and  extraordinary  persistency  in 
getting  them,  he  never  showed  temper  at  a 
repulse ;  he  simply  and  firmly  persisted  till 
he  had  what  he  wanted.  His  diet  was  one 
point ;  his  idea  was  that  of  the  scholars 


178     CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

about  dictionaries,  —  to  "get  the  best." 
He  knew  as  well  as  any  one  what  was  in  the 
house,  and  would  refuse  beef  if  turkey  was 
to  be  had ;  and  if  there  were  oysters,  he 
would  wait  over  the  turkey  to  see  if  the  oys- 
ters would  not  be  forthcoming.  And  yet  he 
was  not  a  gross  gourmand ;  he  would  eat 
bread  if  he  saw  me  eating  it,  and  thought  he 
was  not  being  imposed  on.  His  habits  of 
feeding,  also,  were  refined  ;  he  never  used  a 
knife,  and  he  would  put  up  his  hand  and 
draw  the  fork  down  to  his  mouth  as  grace- 
fully as  a  grown  person.  Unless  necessity 
compelled,  he  would  not  eat  in  the  kitchen, 
but  insisted  upon  his  meals  in  the  dining- 
room,  and  would  wait  patiently,  unless  a 
stranger  were  present;  and  then  he  was 
sure  to  importune  the  visitor,  hoping  that 
the  latter  was  ignorant  of  the  rule  of  the 
house,  and  would  give  him  something.  They 
used  to  say  that  he  preferred  as  his  table- 
cloth on  the  floor  a  certain  well-known 
church  journal ;  but  this  was  said  by  an 
Episcopalian.  So  far  as  I  know,  he  had  no 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.     179 

religious  prejudices,  except  that  he  did  not 
like  the  association  with  Romanists.  He  tol- 
erated the  servants,  because  they  belonged 
to  the  house,  and  would  sometimes  linger  by 
the  kitchen  stove  ;  but  the  moment  visitors 
came  in,  he  arose,  opened  the  door,  and 
marched  into  the  drawing-room.  Yet  he 
enjoyed  the  company  of  his  equals,  and 
never  withdrew,  no  matter  how  many  callers 
—  whom  he  recognized  as  of  his  society — 
might  come  into  the  drawing-room.  Calvin 
was  fond  of  company,  but  he  wanted  to 
choose  it ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  his 
was  an  aristocratic  fastidiousness  rather  than 
one  of  faith.  It  is  so  with  most  people. 

The  intelligence  of  Calvin  was  something 
phenomenal,  in  his  rank  of  life.  He  estab- 
lished a  method  of  communicating  his  wants 
and  even  some  of  his  sentiments ;  and  he 
could  help  himself  in  many  things.  There 
was  a  furnace  register  in  a  retired  room, 
where  he  used  to  go  when  he  wished  to  be 
alone,  that  he  always  opened  when  he  de- 
sired more  heat ;  but  never  shut  it,  any  more 


180     CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

than  he  shut  the  door  after  himself.  He 
could  do  almost  everything  but  speak ;  and 
you  would  declare  sometimes  that  you  could 
see  a  pathetic  longing  to  do  that  in  his  intel- 
ligent face.  I  have  no  desire  to  overdraw 
his  qualities,  but  if  there  was  one  thing  in 
him  more  noticeable  than  another,  it  was  his 
fondness  for  nature.  He  could  content  him- 
self for  hours  at  a  low  window,  looking  into 
the  ravine  and  at  the  great  trees,  noting  the 
smallest  stir  there ;  he  delighted,  above  all 
things,  to  accompany  me  walking  about  the 
garden,  hearing  the  birds,  getting  the  smell 
of  the  fresh  earth,  and  rejoicing  in  the  sun- 
shine. He  followed  me  and  gambolled  like 
a  dog,  rolling  over  on  the  turf  and  exhibit- 
ing his  delight  in  a  hundred  ways.  If  I 
worked,  he  sat  and  watched  me,  or  looked 
off  over  the  bank,  and  kept  his  ear  open 
to  the  twitter  in  the  cherry-trees.  When  it 
stormed,  he  was  sure  to  sit  at  the  window, 
keenly  watching  the  rain  or  the  snow,  glan- 
cing up  and  down  at  its  falling ;  and  a  winter 
tempest  always  delighted  him.  I  think  he 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF   CHARACTER.    181 

was  genuinely  fond  of  birds,  but,  so  far  as  I 
know,  he  usually  confined  himself  to  one  a 
day ;  he  never  killed,  as  some  sportsmen  do, 
for  the  sake  of  killing,  but  only  as  civilized 
people  do,  —  from  necessity.  He  was  inti- 
mate with  the  flying-squirrels  who  dwell  in 
the  chestnut-trees,  —  too  intimate,  for  almost 
every  day  in  the  summer  he  would  bring  in 
one,  until  he  nearly  discouraged  them.  He 
was,  indeed,  a  superb  hunter,  and  would 
have  been  a  devastating  one,  if  his  bump  of 
destructiveness  had  not  been  offset  by  a 
bump  of  moderation.  There  was  very  little 
of  the  brutality  of  the  lower  animals  about 
him  ;  I  don't  think  he  enjoyed  rats  for  them- 
selves, but  he  knew  his  business,  and  for  the 
first  few  months  of  his  residence  with  us  he 
waged  an  awful  campaign  against  the  horde, 
and  after  that  his  simple  presence  was  suffi- 
cient to  deter  them  from  coming  on  the 
premises.  Mice  amused  him,  but  he  usually 
considered  them  too  small  game  to  be  taken 
seriously  ;  I  have  seen  him  play  for  an  hour 
with  a  mouse,  and  then  let  him  go  with  a 


182    CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

royal  condescension.  In  this  whole  matter 
of  "  getting  a  living,"  Calvin  was  a  great 
contrast  to  the  rapacity  of  the  age  in  which 
he  lived. 

I  hesitate  a  little  to  speak  of  his  capacity 
for  friendship  and  the  affectionateness  of  his 
nature,  for  I  know  from  his  own  reserve  that 
he  would  not  care  to  have  it  much  talked 
about.  We  understood  each  other  perfectly, 
but  we  never  made  any  fuss  about  it :  when 
I  spoke  his  name  and  snapped  my  fingers 
he  came  to  me  ;  when  I  returned  home  at 
night  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  waiting  for 
me  near  the  gate,  and  would  rise  and  saunter 
along  the  walk,  as  if  his  being  there  were 
purely  accidental,  —  so  shy  was  he  com- 
monly of  showing  feeling ;  and  when  I 
opened  the  door  he  never  rushed  in,  like  a 
cat,  but  loitered  and  lounged,  as  if  he  had 
had  no  intention  of  going  in,  but  would  con- 
descend to.  And  yet  the  fact  was,  he  knew 
dinner  was  ready,  and  he  was  bound  to  be 
there.  He  kept  the  run  of  dinner-time.  It 
happened  sometimes,  during  our  absence  in 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.    18S 

the  summer,  that  dinner  would  be  early,  and 
Calvin,  walking  about  the  grounds,  missed 
it  and  came  in  late.  But  he  never  made 
a  mistake  the  second  day.  There  was  one 
thing  he  never  did,  —  he  never  rushed 
through  an  open  doorway.  He  never  for- 
got his  dignity.  If  he  had  asked  to  have 
the  door  opened,  and  was  eager  to  go  out, 
he  always  went  deliberately;  I  can  see  him 
now,  standing  on  the  sill,  looking  about  at 
the  sky  as  if  he  was  thinking  whether  it 
were  worth  while  to  take  an  umbrella,  until 
he  was  near  having  his  tail  shut  in. 

His  friendship  was  rather  constant  than 
demonstrative.  When  we  returned  from  an 
absence  of  nearly  two  years,  Calvin  wel- 
comed us  with  evident  pleasure,  but  showed 
his  satisfaction  rather  by  tranquil  happiness 
than  by  fuming  about.  He  had  the  faculty 
of  making  us  glad  to  get  home.  It  was  his 
constancy  that  was  so  attractive.  He  liked 
companionship,  but  he  would  n't  be  petted, 
or  fussed  over,  or  sit  in  any  one's  lap  a  mo- 
ment; he  always  extricated  himself  from 


184  CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

such  familiarity  with  dignity  and  with  no 
show  of  temper.  If  there  was  any  petting  to 
be  done,  however,  he  chose  to  do  it.  Often 
he  would  sit  looking  at  me,  and  then,  moved 
by  a  delicate  affection,  come  and  pull  at  my 
coat  and  sleeve  until  he  could  touch  my  face 
with  his  nose,  and  then  go  away  contented. 
He  had  a  habit  of  coming  to  my  study  in 
the  morning,  sitting  quietly  by  my  side  or 
on  the  table  for  hours,  watching  the  pen  run 
over  the  paper,  occasionally  swinging  his 
tail  round  for  a  blotter,  and  then  going  to 
sleep  among  the  papers  by  the  inkstand. 
Or,  more  rarely,  he  would  watch  the  writing 
from  a  perch  on  my  shoulder.  Writing  al- 
ways interested  him,  and,  until  he  under- 
stood it,  he  wanted  to  hold  the  pen. 

He  always  held  himself  in  a  kind  of  re- 
serve with  his  friend,  as  if  he  had  said,  "  Let 
us  respect  our  personality,  and  not  make  a 
'  mess  '  of  friendship."  He  saw,  with  Emer- 
son, the  risk  of  degrading  it  to  trivial  con- 
veniency.  "  Why  insist  on  rash  personal 
relations  with  your  friend  ?  "  "  Leave  this 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.  186 

touching  and  clawing."  Yet  I  would  not 
give  an  unfair  notion  of  his  aloofness,  his 
fine  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  the  me  and  the 
not-me.  And,  at  the  risk  of  not  being  be- 
lieved, I  will  relate  an  incident,  which  was 
often  repeated.  Calvin  had  the  practice  of 
passing  a  portion  of  the  night  in  the  contem- 
plation of  its  beauties,  and  would  come  into 
our  chamber  over  the  roof  of  the  conserva- 
tory through  the  open  window,  summer  and 
winter,  and  go  to  sleep  on  the  foot  of  my 
bed.  He  would  do  this  always  exactly  in 
this  way ;  he  never  was  content  to  stay  in 
the  chamber  if  we  compelled  him  to  go  up- 
stairs and  through  the  door.  He  had  the 
obstinacy  of  General  Grant.  But  this  is  by 
the  way.  In  the  morning,  he  performed  his 
toilet  and  went  down  to  breakfast  with  the 
rest  of  the  family.  Now, -when  the  mistress 
was  absent  from  home,  and  at  no  other  time, 
Calvin  would  come  in  the  morning,  when 
the  bell  rang,  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  put  up 
his  feet  and  look  into  my  face,  follow  me 
about  when  I  rose,  "  assist  "  at  the  dressing, 


186     CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

and  in  many  purring  ways  show  his  fond- 
ness, as  if  he  had  plainly  said,  "I  know  that 
she  has  gone  away,  but  I  am  here."  Such 
was  Calvin  in  rare  moments.. 

He  had  his  limitations.  Whatever  pas- 
sion he  had  for  nature,  he  had  no  conception 
of  art.  There  was  sent  to  him  once  a  fine 
and  very  expressive  cat's  head  in  bronze,  by 
Fre*miet.  I  placed  it  on  the  floor.  He  re- 
garded it  intently,  approached  it  cautiously 
and  crouchingly,  touched  it  with  his  nose, 
perceived  the  fraud,  turned  away  abruptly, 
and  never  would  notice  it  afterward.  On 
the  whole,  his  life  was  not  only  a  successful 
one,  but  a  happy  one.  He  never  had  but 
one  fear,  so  far  as  I  know  :  he  had  a  mortal 
and  a  reasonable  terror  of  plumbers.  He 
would  never  stay  in  the  house  when  they 
were  here.  No  coaxing  could  quiet  him.  Of 
course  he  did  n't  share  our  fear  about  their 
charges,  but  he  must  have  had  some  dread- 
ful experience  with  them  in  that  portion  of 
his  life  which  is  unknown  to  us.  A  plumber 
was  to  him  the  devil,  and  I  have  no  doubt 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.    187 

that,  in  his  scheme,  plumbers  were  fore- 
ordained to  do  him  mischief. 

In  speaking  of  his  worth,  it  has  never 
occurred  to  me  to  estimate  Calvin  by  the 
worldly  standard.  I  know  that  it  is  cus- 
tomary now,  when  any  one  dies,  to  ask  how 
much  he  was  worth,  and  that  no  obituary  in 
the  newspapers  is  considered  complete  with- 
out such  an  estimate.  The  plumbers  in  our 
house  were  one  day  overheard  to  say  that 
"  they  say  that  she  says  that  he  says  that  he 
would  n't  take  a  hundred  dollars  for  him." 
It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  I  never  made 
such  a  remark,  and  that,  so  far  as  Calvin 
was  concerned,  there  was  no  purchase  in 
money. 

As  I  look  back  upon  it,  Calvin's  life 
seems  to  me  a  fortunate  one,  for  it  was  nat- 
ural and  unforced.  He  ate  when  he  was 
hungry,  slept  when  he  was  sleepy,  and  en- 
joyed existence  to  the  very  tips  of  his  toes 
and  the  end  of  his  expressive  and  slow-mov- 
ing tail.  He  delighted  to  roam  about  the 
garden  and  stroll  among  the  trees,  and  to  lie 


188    CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

on  the  green  grass  and  luxuriate  in  all  the 
sweet  influences  of  summer.  You  could 
never  accuse  him  of  idleness,  and  yet  he 
knew  the  secret  of  repose.  The  poet  who 
wrote  so  prettily  of  him  that  his  little  life 
was  rounded  with  a  sleep  understated  his 
felicity ;  it  was  rounded  with  a  good  many, 
His  conscience  never  seemed  to  interfere 
with  his  slumbers.  In  fact,  he  had  good 
habits  and  a  contented  mind.  I  can  see 
him  now  walk  in  at  the  study  door,  sit  down 
by  my  chair,  bring  his  tail  artistically  about 
his  feet,  and  look  up  at  me  with  unspeak- 
able happiness  in  his  handsome  face.  I  often 
thought  that  he  felt  the  dumb  limitation 
which  denied  him  the  power  of  language. 
But  since  he  was  denied  speech,  he  scorned 
the  inarticulate  mouthings  of  the  lower  an- 
imals. The  vulgar  mewing  and  yowling  of 
the  cat  species  was  beneath  him ;  he  some- 
times uttered  a  sort  of  articulate  and  well- 
bred  ejaculation,  when  he  wished  to  call 
attention  to  something  that  he  considered 
remarkable,  or  to  some  want  of  his,  but  he 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.    189 

never  went  whining  about.  He  would  sit 
for  hours  at  a  closed  window,  when  he  de- 
sired to  enter,  without  a  murmur,  and  when 
it  was  opened  he  never  admitted  that  he  had 
been  impatient  by  "bolting"  in.  Though 
speech  he  had  not,  and  the  unpleasant  kind 
of  utterance  given  to  his  race  he  would  not 
use,  he  had  a  mighty  power  of  purr  to  ex- 
press his  measureless  content  with  congenial 
society.  There  was  in  him  a  musical  organ 
with  stops  of  varied  power  and  expression, 
upon  which  I  have  no  doubt  he  could  have 
performed  Scarlatti's  celebrated  cat's-fugue. 
Whether  Calvin  died  of  old  age,  or  was 
carried  off  by  one  of  the  diseases  incident  to 
youth,  it  is  impossible  to  say ;  for  his  de- 
parture was  as  quiet  as  his  advent  was  mys- 
terious. I  only  know  that  he  appeared  to 
us  in  this  world  in  his  perfect  stature  and 
beauty,  and  that  after  a  time,  like  Lohen- 
grin, he  withdrew.  In  his  illness  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  regretted  than  in  all  his 
blameless  life.  I  suppose  there  never  was  an 
illness  that  had  more  of  dignity  and  sweet- 


190     CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

ness  and  resignation  in  it.  It  came  on  grad- 
ually, in  a  kind  of  listlessness  and  want  of 
appetite.  An  alarming  symptom  was  his 
preference  for  the  warmth  of  a  furnace-reg- 
ister to  the  lively  sparkle  of  the  open  wood- 
fire.  Whatever  pain  he  suffered,  he  bore 
it  in  silence,  and  seemed  only  anxious  not  to 
obtrude  his  malady.  We  tempted  him  with 
the  delicacies  of  the  season,  but  it  soon  be- 
came impossible  for  him  to  eat,  and  for  two 
weeks  he  ate  or  drank  scarcely  anything. 
Sometimes  he  made  an  effort  to  take  some- 
thing, but  it  was  evident  that  he  made  the 
effort  to  please  us.  The  neighbors  —  and  I 
am  convinced  that  the  advice  of  neighbors 
is  never  good  for  anything  —  suggested  cat- 
nip. He  would  n't  even  smell  it.  We  had 
the  attendance  of  an  amateur  practitioner 
of  medicine,  whose  real  office  was  the  cure 
of  souls,  but  nothing  touched  his  case.  He 
took  what  was  offered,  but  it  was  with  the 
air  of  one  to  whom  the  time  for  pellets  was 
passed.  He  sat  or  lay  day  after  day  almost 
motionless,  never  once  making  a  display  of 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.     191 

those  vulgar  convulsions  or  contortions  of 
pain  which  are  so  disagreeable  to  society. 
His  favorite  place  was  on  the  brightest  spot 
of  a  Smyrna  rug  by  the  conservatory,  where 
the  sunlight  fell  and  he  could  hear  the  foun- 
tain play.  If  we  went  to  him  and  exhibited 
our  interest  in  his  condition,  he  always 
purred  in  recognition  of  our  sympathy.  And 
when  f  spoke  his  name,  he  looked  up  with 
an  expression  that  said,  "  I  understand  it, 
old  fellow,  but  it  's  no  use."  He  was  to  all 
who  came  to  visit  him  a  model  of  calmness 
and  patience  in  affliction. 

1  was  absent  from  home  at  the  last,  but 
heard  by  daily  postal-card  of  his  failing 
condition,  and  never  again  saw  him  alive. 
One  sunny  morning,  he  rose  from  his  nig, 
went  into  the  conservatory  (he  was  very 
thin  then),  walked  around  it  deliberately, 
looking  at  all  the  plants  he  knew,  and  then 
went  to  the  bay-window  in  the  dining-room, 
and  stood  a  long  time  looking  out  upon 
the  little  field,  now  brown  and  sere,  and 
toward  the  garden,  where  perhaps  the  hap* 


192        CALVIN:  A   STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

piest  hours  of  his  life  had  been  spent.  It 
was  a  last  look.  He  turned  and  walked 
away,  laid  himself  down  upon  the  bright 
spot  in  the  rug,  and  quietly  died. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  a  little  shock 
went  through  the  neighborhood  when  it  was 
known  that  Calvin  was  dead,  so  marked  was 
his  individuality ;  and  his  friends,  one  after 
another,  came  in  to  see  him.  There  was  no 
sentimental  nonsense  about  his  obsequies  ;  it 
was  felt  that  any  parade  would  have  been 
distasteful  to  him.  John,  who  acted  as  un- 
dertaker, prepared  a  candle-box  for  him, 
and  I  believe  assumed  a  professional  de- 
corum ;  but  there  may  have  been  the  usual 
levity  underneath,  for  I  heard  that  he  re- 
marked in  the  kitchen  that  it  was  the  "  dry- 
est  wake  he  ever  attended."  Everybody, 
however,  felt  a  fondness  for  Calvin,  and 
regarded  him  with  a  certain  respect.  Be- 
tween him  and  Bertha  there  existed  a  great 
friendship,  and  she  apprehended  his  nature  : 
she  used  to  say  that  sometimes  she  was 
afraid  of  him,  he  looked  at  her  so  intelli- 


CALVIN:  A  STUDY  OF  CHARACTER.    193 

geiitly ;  she  was  never  certain  that  he  was 
what  he  appeared  to  be. 

When  I  returned  they  had  laid  Calvin  on 
a  table  in  an  upper  chamber  by  an  open 
window.  It  was  February.  He  reposed  in 
a  candle-box,  lined  about  the  edge  with  ever- 
green, and  at  his  head  stood  a  little  wine- 
glass with  flowers.  He  lay  with  his  head 
tucked  down  in  his  arms,  —  a  favorite  posi- 
tion of  his  before  the  fire, —  as  if  asleep  in 
the  comfort  of  his  soft  and  exquisite  fur. 
It  was  the  involuntary  exclamation  of  those 
who  saw  him,  "  How  natural  he  looks ! " 
As  for  myself,  I  said  nothing.  John  buried 
him  under  the  twin  hawthorn-trees,  —  one 
white  and  the  other  pink,  —  in  a  spot  where 
Calvin  was  fond  of  lying  and  listening  to 
the  hum  of  summer  insects  and  the  twitter 
of  birds. 

Perhaps  I  have  failed  to  make  appear  the 
individuality  of  character  that  was  so  evi- 
dent to  those  who  knew  him.  At  any  rate, 
I  have  set  down  nothing  concerning  him  but 
the  literal  truth.  He  was  always  a  mystery. 


194     CALVIN:  A   STUDY  OF  CHARACTER. 

I  did  not  know  whence  he  came ;  I  do  not 
know  whither  he  has  gone.  I  would  not 
weave  one  spray  of  falsehood  in  the  wreatl  < 
I  lay  upon  his  grave. 


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